


Hit and Miss

by indraaas



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Gen, because I swear to god that is all I can write, everybody is in the sciences because I have no idea what the hell goes on outside of that faculty, plot appears once in a blue moon and wanes with the tides, professor mard, the miramard in this is going to be slowly flambe'd at 3 degrees until completely cooked, this is a brotp fic first and foremost and romance is secondary, when I say the miramard is a slow burn I mean it's a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indraaas/pseuds/indraaas
Summary: Sting knew he was screwed the moment he realized that not only was his English partner his roommate, but she also happened to be the insanely hot chick he had nearly run over with his car that morning. University AU.





	1. 8 AM on a Monday

" _I'm too hot, hot damn! Bitch, say my name, you know who I am!_ " Sting Eucliffe beat the side of his blindingly bright blue Mercedes in time to the bass and his own horribly off-key voice. He made a sharp left, flipping off the driver of the beige Hyundai he had cut off, and sighed irritably when he saw yet another row of full parking.

"For fucks sakes, these freshman live on campus, why are they driving here?" he groaned, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. As a second-year still living on campus he had little room to talk himself, but with an eight AM class on a Monday for an elective he was reluctant to take, Sting felt entitled to his complaints. Also, the building was a whole twenty minutes away from his dorm by foot. That  _had_  to be illegal.

Sting raised his head and saw his life flash before his eyes when the bustiest blonde he had ever had the fortune of seeing (although, in this case he supposed it was more to his misfortune than anything) crossed the parking lot just as his foot slammed on the accelerator. His car sped forward in a beeline for the chick and he let out a rather girly shriek as he spun the steering wheel, nearly snapping it off the dash, and stomped on the brakes. The car still managed to graze her leg, causing her to trip and land flat on her face. Hard.

"Holy  _fucking_  shit," Sting hissed, rolling down his window to stick his head out and peer down at the fallen blonde. He was too young to go to jail and he was also not nearly smart enough to make a body disappear in broad daylight. That was more Gajeel's thing, and Gajeel wasn't a morning person so if he called him to dump her, then Sting would follow. The girl groaned, turning on her back and propping herself up on her elbows. Sting had to admit that she was pretty hot in a 'I just got hit by a car and still look like I got off the VS catwalk' kind of way. He spent a few seconds staring at her rack, which was nearly spilling out of her low-cut top. While he normally would have stopped to help, flirt, and maybe get her number, there was ten minutes until class started and he still hadn't found parking.

"Watch where you're crossing the road, blondie!" he yelled, and she fixed her positively demonic brown gaze on him. Sting took it back – VS models did  _not_ try to murder people with their eyes alone.

"Watch where I'm going? You're the asshole that nearly ran me over!" she screeched. Sting waved his hand dismissively.

"Whatever, blondie! Be grateful I'm not pressing charges!"

"For  _what?!_ " But Sting had already rolled up his window and hit the accelerator again, leaving behind an angry blonde in the dust.

* * *

"I'm a physics major, why the fuck do I need an English credit?" Sting groused, plopping himself in an empty row somewhere in the middle of the lecture hall. He had arrived with three minutes to spare, which normally was never a problem but the look Professor Geer had given him as he entered could have chilled blood. Shivering at the memory, the blond male pulled out his laptop and hit the power key, stretching out comfortably as he did so.

As he pulled out his cell phone to text Rogue - who was probably awake despite having his first class at 10, the fucking keener - Sting took a swing of his coffee, freezing with the cup still raised to his lips when he heard a guttural snarl of, " _You..._ "

Sting spat out his beverage all over his $2100 laptop. A girl in the back gasped theatrically, making up for his lack of an overt reaction to the death of his precious baby. He would cry when he remembered how to speak again. Coffee dribbled down and stained his white muscle shirt but he found he didn't particularly care because standing in the doorway with a murderous look on her face was the same dishevelled blonde he had bumped with his car.

"Well, as humourus as your reaction to Miss Heartfilia was, we do have a class to start," Professor Geer drawled, "Miss Heartfilia, take your seat. You are late. Unheard of for you."

"Well," she hissed, "It may have something to do with  _that_  asshole nearly running me over not ten minutes ago."

"Mr..." the Professor raised a thinly arched eyebrow at him, and Sting cleared his throat, "E-Eucliffe. Sting Eucliffe."

"Mr Eucliffe, may I introduce you to Miss Lucy Heartfilia, your new English partner?" A rather cruel smirk appeared on the faces of both the Professor and the blonde, and Sting sank in his seat, wondering what horrific crime he had committed in recent years to be deserving of this torture. He paid his taxes mostly on time and he'd only gone over his credit limit a total of two times, but he had tutored some idiots in applied physics from the local high-school so that  _had_  to have made up for his bad karma. Lucy stormed up the rows and seated herself next to him, pulling out her own bright pink laptop, which powered up automatically just as Professor Geer began his introductory speech.

"Hey there, Lucy, right? Can I call you Luce?" Sting put on what he liked to call his  _'core-melting-panty-dropping'_  smoulder, and was surprised when she shot him a venomous glare. One the one hand, he should have expected his stock to have dropped because of the car thing, but on the other hand…it was The Stare. Who could resist The Stare?

"No. You can call me 'Her Excellency, Lady Lucy'."

"Blondie, then. Look, sorry about this morning, I was in a hurry, and you know how traffic gets. Couldn't be late for class, 'specially with this neurotic dickbag of a Professor."

"Professor Geer was my English instructor last year and is a good friend of mine," Lucy deadpanned, and Sting mentally kicked himself. First, he'd nearly killed the girl ( _grazed_ , he reminded himself firmly), and then he'd insulted her favourite prof in an admittedly botched attempt at conversing. Had Rogue been here, he would have literally smacked the shit out of him.

"R-right, uh...so, English, am I right?" Sting wanted nothing more than to curl up and die in a corner but he had to keep the conversation going. It was the only think keeping him from spontaneously combusting at this point.

"You're lucky I'm not pressing charges."

" _For what?!_ " Sting had the oddest sense of déjà vu. It appeared Lucy felt it as well, because she gave him a knowing stare.

"Oh, I don't know...nearly running me over with your car and racing off?"

"It was barely a graze!"

"Really? Because the bruise on my thigh and my scraped-up palms say otherwise!"

"Oh, boo-hoo! Does the little princess have a boo-boo? The great Sting Eucliffe-" Sting was interrupted as a piece of chalk came flying towards him and collided with his forehead. Professor Geer looked relatively bored as the rest of the class burst out into fits of laughter. The instructor sighed, lowering his arm.

"Do we have a problem, Mr Eucliffe?"

"N-no sir," Sting rubbed his forehead sheepishly, and the brunet nodded in response.

"Good. One more interruption and you can kiss this credit goodbye. Moving on, required texts for this course-"

As the Professor droned on, Sting stole a glance at the pretty blonde next to him. Lucy was cheerfully typing away online, and the blue-eyed male wanted to cry when he realized she was chatting with Erza Scarlet, the hellish RA of his dorm, giving her a run-down of the situation.

Turning his attention back to his phone, Sting erased his message to Rogue and wrote a new one before hitting the 'send' button.

**To: Ryossss**

_So how fast can you arrange my funeral?_

**From: Ryossss**

_What did you do this time?_

**To: Ryossss**

_I nearly ran over my English partner and she's bff's with Scarlet_

**From: Ryossss**

_It was nice knowing you, Sting._

**To: Ryossss**

_Traitor!_

**From: Ryossss**

_No, that's you, Judas._

Sting sniffled and slumped down further in his seat.

* * *

"You're fucked," Gajeel Redfox stated bluntly. The second-year anthropology major walked beside his cousin, fellow second-year biology major Ryos 'Rogue' Cheney, as they left the cozy café.

"You know she's half siblings with Laxus Dreyer?" Rogue said, and Sting froze in his tracks.

"Laxus Dreyer? The third-year Business Major, and three time Krav Maga world champion?"

"The very same." Gajeel smirked. "And she's adopted siblings with Cobra."

"Oh god, not the one who's gonna be a toxicologist!" Sting wailed. He could see the various ways he would die at the hands of her insane family. Perhaps he would be jumped by Laxus, who would proceed to break every bone in his body twice over; or maybe he would perish of some untraceable poison personally crafted by Cobra. Or maybe both. Maybe Cobra would design a poison with a paralytic agent that would force him to remain frozen and wide-awake as Laxus rearranged his entire skeleton.

"The one and only," Rogue chimed as the three men plopped down on a spare bench. Gajeel and Rogue were the very picture of ease while Sting looked five seconds away from a heart attack.

"She's gonna kill me. Oh, my god, I should have walked, this never would have happened if I walked. Why did I have to drive?" Sting bemoaned.

"Hey, your Merc is pretty fuckin' awesome, I'd drive it everywhere if I were you," Gajeel said, and Sting brightened momentarily. "It is a wicked ride. Totally worth it."

"Not helping, Gajeel," Rogue said. Sting immediately went back to wallowing in self-pity. Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' drama queen."

"Erza Scarlet is her best friend."

"You're fucked, Sting. Royally fucked in the ass with a cactus."

Sting let out a sob, and Rogue patted his back sympathetically – well, it seemed sympathetic. Rogue's face looked mostly constipated. Gajeel scrolled through his phone for a moment, finally tapping it; the funeral dirge rang out loudly in time to Gajeel's ominous humming. Sting slipped off the bench, curled into a ball, and burst into hysterical tears.

"Gajeel. Was that really necessary?"

"Gihihihi!"

* * *

Sting made his way up to his dorm room, twirling his key absentmindedly. He hadn't met with his roommate because he had moved in several days prior to the start of class and she was set to arrive the day classes began, but he had been informed that she was a female in his year so he was okay with the situation. Provided that his roommate was not one of his many exes or previous conquests. Then Rogue would really have to plan his funeral.

Turning the corner, Sting whistled a jaunty tune and paused in front of his dorm. A brass label read X792, matching the sticker on his key. Unlocking the door, he walked in and let a sly grin split his face when he spotted his roommate, a very curvaceous looking blonde who bending to reach something across her bed. He stared at her legs for several moments, committing the sight of her panty-covered ass, barely concealed by her skirt, to memory.

" _Bonjour, ma cherie,_ " he purred, edging closer. The woman stiffened and rose to full height, turning around to face him, and Sting swore he felt his soul exit his body.

Lucy Heartfilia gave him a disdainful stare, "Not you again..."

Sting really hated Mondays.


	2. Three Times the Charm

Sting was a fairly light sleeper. Where Rogue could sleep through a car smashing through the living room (which he had once), all it took was a glass toppling over in the kitchen to get Sting wide awake.

It was around three in the morning when Sting's eyes flew open, the feeling of being watched too much for him to bear. When he glanced up, he let out a scream of pure terror and a hand slapped over his mouth to muffle the noise in response. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and Sting was sure his heartbeat could be heard five floors down.

"Be quiet! Lucy is sleeping, you will awaken her!" Erza Scarlet hissed. The "scarlet demon", as she had been dubbed freshman year of high school after a rather unfortunate incident between herself and five individuals from Phantom Lord High, one of which was Gajeel, was straddling the blond male, wearing a fuzzy pair of pyjama's. The RA was in the same year as himself, and had been given the title almost immediately upon her arrival to Crocus University in the first year. It was a unanimous decision amongst the school council that she was best fit for the job, and she took her role extremely seriously. Terrifyingly seriously.

"What the  _fuck_  are you doing in here?! How long have you been in here? _Why are you straddling me?_ " Sting whisper-yelled the moment she removed her palm, and yanked his thick comforter up higher on his chest. While he normally would not have objected to an attractive lady seeing him bare as the day he was born, this was Erza freakin' Scarlet. If she managed to incite a full blown shudder from Gajeel to this very day, she was clearly not to be messed with.

"I have been here for the past fifteen minutes, no I will not remove myself from your person, and I am here to inform you that you will not be let off lightly for your actions against Lucy!" Erza snapped. The aforementioned woman mumbled in her sleep and dangled precariously off her bed.

"Okay, one, that is creepy as  _fuck_  you psychotic demon, it's three in the fucking morning! Two, I'm naked under this, where the fuck am I gonna go? Three,  _what actions?!_ " Sting flailed his arms wildly, before snatching the blanket back up. Erza flushed a red bright enough to rival her hair, and immediately leapt off the male, bowing deeply.

"I apologize for my inappropriate actions, I was not aware you had such sleeping arrangements. You may hit me for sexually assaulting you!"

"Uh, n-no, that's fine, I'm not crazy. Hitting you is a death wish...and I'm not quite sure that qualifies as sexual assault..."

"Nonetheless, to more important matters," Erza straightened up and her glare intensified, "You are responsible for Lucy's grievous injuries!"

"Dude, I grazed her with my car. She has a bruise and scraped up palms. Boo fuckin' hoo, give it a week and she'll be all fine," Sting scowled, flopping backward. His first class started at the unholy hour of seven, and he had gone to bed around one after a very long stint at the gym in an effort to avoid the awkwardness of the first night with his new roommate. He was clearly not going back to bed after this.

"A bone bruise!" Erza hissed again, and Sting raised an eyebrow.

"This differs from a regular bruise how?"

"To indirectly quote Wendy-"

"Wait, Gajeel's sister? Wendy Marvell? The first year health sciences student?"

"Yes, do not interrupt again! She is suffering from a subperios-"

"In English. I do physics, not biology or whatever the fuck that is."

" _Do not interrupt!_ " Erza procured a sharp switchblade from her cleavage and waved it in front of Sting's face threateningly. The blond looked horrified, wondering how exactly she had managed to store the sharp object between the soft globes without causing an accident of Edward Scissorhands' proportions.

"Isn't carrying weapons against regulations on-"

"They made an exception."

"Ah. Can you...?"

"Right," Erza calmly shoved the switchblade back, and Sting blanched.

"Now, her femur's bone tissue was severely damaged, leading to bleeding beneath the layer. It could take months for it to properly heal. Look at the damage!" Erza dashed over to Lucy's bed and yanked down her pyjama bottoms, pointing to the rather large and dark bruise on her pale thigh. Sting flushed a bright red and averted his eyes. It appeared his roommate had a rather racy preference in her panties.

"Erza, get her fucking pants back on!" The redhead was momentarily confused before a look of realization dawned her. She hastily threw Lucy's thick duvet over her body, and turned to face Sting once more.

"I see you are not nearly as large of a miscreant as I had previously believed."

"Right. Look, what do you want me to do?" At this point, Sting was willing to go to class in a neon pink onesie if it meant the woman left.

"You are to apologize to Lucy, and ensure that you take care of her as she is injured. Subperio-"

"Erza. It's three in the goddamn morning. Get to the point, " Sting groaned, before pausing and adding, "Please."

"She will be in severe pain for several weeks to come. You will be her nurse until she is well. Consider it your apology," Erza crossed her arms and gave the blond a hard stare. Sting paused. He could definitely do that. It would be no more different than looking after Rogue when he got into his first fist fight.

"Done," Sting agreed. Erza smiled satisfactorily, and stuck out her hand. Sting hesitantly grasped her hand and shook it, wincing as she crushed his bones together.

"Excellent! I bid you good night. You have a seven AM class with Professor Clive as the instructor, I would rest if I were you," Erza advised.

"...why do you know my schedule, Erza."

"I know all of my dorm children's schedules," Erza replied, and Sting gave her an incredulous stare. "Dorm children?"

"Yes. My duties as an RA-"

"Out. Now. Please."

"Very well, have a good night."

And with that, Erza stealthily made her way to the door, pausing to tuck Lucy in much like a child, and snuck out. Sting flopped back in bed and rubbed his eyes. He reached for his phone and tapped the message icon.

**To: Dr Wendy**   
_What the fuck is a subperio and how do I fix blondie's leg like do I need antibiotics?_

**From: Dr Wendy**   
_...Sting, it is nearly 4 AM, perhaps this conversation should be held at a later time? You know, when people's brains are actually functioning?_

Sting rolled on his stomach and slammed his face in a pillow. He really wasn't going to get any sleep at this rate.

* * *

"How have you not gotten a titanium reinforced door yet?" Gajeel's tone was that of horrified amazement as the scarred male walked with Sting to class. While Sting's Modern Physics class started at 7 and Gajeel's Introduction to Anthropological Archaeology class started at 7:30, they both took place in the same building so Gajeel had decided it would be easier to get there on time and still be able to discuss that nights horrors on the way if he just left earlier.

"This is Erza, she played Titania in high school, you think a metal door will hold her back?"

"Titani _a_  and titani _um_  aren't the same thing, moron," Gajeel thwacked the back of Sting's head just as they approached the lecture hall.

"Good luck, don't die," Gajeel said. The man then turned around and sauntered down the hall, humming something under his breath all the while. Sting rolled his eyes and walked into class, seating himself a comfortable distance away from the main desk.

"Oh god, not _you_  again," Professor Gildartz Clive teased. Sting grinned light heartedly. The man had been one of his favourite professors last year and was fond of example over theory, meaning a majority of the year was spent conducting dangerous experiments under the guise of physics.

"Up yours, old man, you know I make this class worth teaching," Sting pulled out his replacement laptop, his shiny new one having been sent to the store for fixing after the coffee had shot it to hell.

"Eucliffe, how long have you known me? Laptops are a no-go, remember last year?" Gildartz raised an eyebrow, and Sting winced, flashbacks of the _'Great Fire of '14'_  running through his head. He hadn't even been aware that laptops could _melt_ like that until that dreadful day.

"Professor Clive," a deadpan voice greeted from the entrance. Sting's eyes widened in recognition. Macbeth Oración Seis, or, as he was more commonly known, Midnight, was one of the most intelligent Physics students to have ever graced the halls of Crocus University, and he had immediately been placed in the third year class upon his arrival in the first year. Sting had a strong admiration for the man, and respected a lot of his published papers.

_What in the world is he doing here?_ Sting thought. Midnight walked up to the main desk and handed the orange haired man a thin file.

"Professor Stinger informed me that I will be acting as a teaching assistant to this class just this morning," Midnight explained, and Gildartz tossed the file in an open drawer of his desk.

"Goddamn Bluenote, sicing his students on me with no warning! Whatever. Midnight, just pick a seat and try not to pass out," Gildartz waved his hand dismissively, and Midnight immediately zero'd in on Sting, making his way to sit next to him. Sting gave a weak smile in response to Midnight's blank stare, before whipping out his phone.

**To: Pincushion**

_Dude Midnight's in this class and he's acting like I killed his cat or something_

**From: Pincushion**

_You fucking moron, Midnight's Cobra's best friend, he grew up with blondie. You're dead_

Sting gave Midnight a wary stare, to which the black and white haired man replied with a small smirk.

"Cobra wishes to speak with you after class, I'm here to make sure you don't skimp out."

"Wait, you became TA just to tell me that?" Sting exclaimed.

"No, that was just a convenience," Midnight shrugged, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes, "Now shut the fuck up and let me sleep."

As Gildartz flicked off the lights and turned on the projector, Sting idly wondered if he could melt into the shadows and zip out of class without being noticed.

* * *

Erik 'Cobra' Heartfilia was a rather intimidating looking man. He met Sting's height at an even six foot, and would have looked every bit as intimidating as the rumours stated had it not been for the fact that he donned a white lab coat and gigantic safety goggles.

"So," Cobra began, carefully squeezing a dropper of liquid into an Erlenmeyer flask, "What's this I'm hearing about you running my sister over on the first day of class?"

"Uh, grazed. WIth my car. It was an accident, really!" Sting replied hastily. He had heard horrific tales from Gajeel, the man being the resident gossip, regarding the kinds of things Cobra had pulled on all those who dared to bother his precious little sister. Legend had it that to this very day, Hibiki Lates couldn't be in the presence of tea without a minor panic attack.

"And yet you didn't bother to help her when she fell," Cobra eased the flask on top of a bunsen burner and turned up the flames. Immediately, the contents started sizzling, and Sting took a cautious step back.

"Class was gonna start in ten minutes, no time," Sting offered, and nearly shat himself when Cobra wheeled around to give him a demonic stare. Well, as much of a demonic stare as he could with one eye.

"You hurt her," he said simply, "You will apologize to her, and keep her happy for the rest of the year. If I hear even  _one_  complaint or anything remotely similar to one,  _I will dip you feet first in a hydrochloric acid bath_ , understood?"

"Y-yes!"

"Yes what?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Sting saluted. Cobra nodded, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips, and when he turned around to drop some kind of solid inside the flask, Sting stared at his saluting hand in betrayal. Here he was, the great Sting Eucliffe, turning into a whipped bitch by a guy only a year older than him over some blonde chick he had barely nudged with his car. What had become of him? He used to be so respected, so feared, and he was reduced to a weak pile of-

Suddenly, a loud boom resounded, and Sting let out a squeak of terror, tripping over his feet. To the left, several freshman were screaming as a roaring fire consumed the table. Cobra immediately made a mad dash for the table, snagging a fire extinguisher and shouting commands to fellow senior level students, who calmly began to follow in suit. While the others helped put out the flames, Cobra whipped around and advanced on the quaking group of students.

"Who the _fuck_  told you that you could mix this shit without supervision? Why the fuck are you in this lab, anyway? God, you dumbasses are dead meat once this is done, _I'm gonna rip-_ "

Sting took the distraction as incentive to book it, sending sympathetic glances towards the nearly in tears freshman as he bolted through the heavy doors of the lab.

* * *

Sting entered his dorm, fully intent on flopping on his bed and passing out. Gildartz never assigned homework for the first couple days, anyway, and he could frankly care less about his other classes. At this point, he had to plot just exactly how he was going to survive the year. As he dropped his bag at the front door and strolled towards his bed, he noticed a snoozing body on Lucy's bed and froze.

Laxus Dreyer was an absolute beast in every sense of the word. Standing at six foot four, he was a wall of pure muscle and strength. The blond man on the bed cracked open an eye and pointed to Sting's bed.

"Sit."

Sting eagerly complied, his legs having turned to jelly when he saw the other male. Laxus rose with a sigh, turning to sit on the edge of Lucy's bed, facing Sting.

"You hit my sister with a car," he deadpanned, and Sting nearly groaned aloud.

"For the fifth fucking time, I grazed her," Sting said, "And you don't need to give me the lecture, I've heard it already. _Apologize to her, be nice to her, blah blah blah._ "

"Good," Laxus quirked his scarred eyebrow, "But I wasn't here to lecture you originally. Lucy forgot her hard drive in my dorm, I came to return it."

"Oh," Sting said, "So you're  _not_  here to threaten to pull some freaky kung-fu shit on me?"

"No, I think between Erza and Erik we have that covered," Laxus looked faintly amused, "But let me tell you, Lucy is one of the most precious people in our lives. Hurt her and you deal with me. And that isn't something you want."

"Right," Sting nodded furiously, "So you have any idea how to deal with subperio whatever's?"

"Subperiosteal hematoma's?" Laxus said, surprised.

"That's what they're called then! Yeah, Erza told me she had one of those, how do I fix it?" Sting looked cluelessly at the older man, who gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Rest, ice packs, no stress, anti-inflammatories, maybe a knee brace," Laxus shrugged, "I'm kinda used to them, doesn't hurt me as much, so I just go with the pain meds."

"Right," Sting repeated. The door swung open and Lucy strolled in, dressed in comfortable yoga pants and a tight yellow shirt. The moment she spotted Laxus, her dull face lit up brightly and she dashed forward, tackling him backwards.

"Laxus!" she laughed, and the Business Major smiled in turn, wrapping his beefy arms around her petite waist.

"There's my favourite little blonde! You forgot your hand drive at my place, came to return it," Lucy pecked Laxus' cheek and hopped off to the side, shimmying out of her yoga pants. Sting immediately averted his gaze, flushing lightly. He could remember Erza doing the exact same thing not twelve hours ago, although this time Sting could actually see the smoothness of her toned thighs and-

Sting shook his head as if to dispel the line of thought he was following. Instead, he said, "Blondie, maybe you should do that in a bathroom, y'know?"

Lucy squeaked when she heard his voice, dropping down in a crouch. "What the hell?! When did you get here?"

"I've been here this entire time."

" _Pervert!_ " Lucy pointed at him threateningly, and Sting's jaw dropped.

"Excuse me?!  _You're_  the one giving me a free show, exhibitionist!"

"I thought it was just Laxus here, not you!"

"Oh, so you'd strip in front of your brother? Fuckin' nasty-"

"We grew up together! It's frankly nothing he hasn't seen before when we took baths, and even so, Laxus wouldn't look! You on the other hand-"

"I did! Not look, that is, dumb blonde!"

"You're blond, too! If anything,  _you're_  the dumb blond! How do you not notice me crossing the parking lot?!"

"Oh for _fucks sakes_ , it was an-"

"Children," Laxus interrupted, fighting back a smile, "As fun as this is, I don't think your next door neighbours would appreciate this scream fest. Simmer down."

"Oh please, Laxus, our next door neighbours are Bacchus and Warcry, I doubt they give a shit," Lucy scoffed, slipping on comfy purple shorts. Sting stared at the dark purple and black bruise marring her thigh and frowned, a pang of guilt sweeping through his chest. He didn't actually think the bump had hurt that much, but he hadn't seen a bruise that bad since Gajeel and Rogue seriously traded blows.

"See? Pervert, you're totally staring at my thighs!" Lucy pouted, pulling her blanket over the exposed skin, and Sting's eyes snapped to hers.

"I was looking at the bruise, blondie, calm down. How bad does it hurt?"

"Eh? Not too bad, I guess..." Lucy trailed off. Laxus stalked over and sat down facing her. He lifted his hand and poked the bruise, and Lucy let out a screech, scrambling backwards. Sting winced in response to the cry.

"Liar," Laxus said bluntly.

"Okay, it hurts like hell," Lucy admitted, "But it's totally manageable! A couple days and it should fade."

"Not one this bad, kiddo. It's gonna be there a while, and it'll get worse before it gets better," Laxus stated, and Lucy groaned, stuffing a pillow in her face.

"Now how I am I supposed to start my workout?" she groaned.

"I could help with that," the words were out of Sting's mouth before he could properly process them. The two other occupants of the room looked just as surprised as he felt, and Sting wished he could take back the sentence.

"Like I want a super perv like you-"

"Look, blondie, I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but if you'd shut your mouth for a second and listen, maybe you'd understand what I'm trying to do here," Sting snarled, "I am trying to  _apologize_. I have put up with that psycho RA threatening me with a switchblade at three in the morning, your fucking crazy brother telling me in detail what he would do to me with hydrochloric acid if I hurt you, Laxus...well, he didn't do much, but still. Clearly you mean a lot to people, and-"

Sting was cut off when Lucy shot up, a cold fury in her eyes.

"Erza and Erik did _what_?" she hissed, getting off her bed and yanking on her slippers. She made her way to the door, a stream of expletives trailing behind her. When she entered the hallway, she whirled around to face Sting and Laxus, who had followed her to the door.

"I can't believe them! That is totally unacceptable! I can deal with my own problems, those two don't need to interfere! Ugh, I am so sorry Sting! Please forgive me!" Lucy bowed slightly, and Sting's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"I'm the one who nearly ran you over, and you're asking for forgiveness?"

"Well...looking at it now, it seems kind of stupid to hold a grudge over something that was both our faults. You weren't paying attention, but I should have been more careful crossing the road. So...truce?" Lucy proffered her hand, and Sting smiled before accepting it.

"Truce, blondie. Now, as cute as you look right now, you might wanna cover up. You're standing in the hallways wearing spandex shorts," Lucy let out a squeal and dashed back inside the dorm. Down the hall, Bacchus let out a roar of laughter.

"Damn, titty queen should've just stayed as is! It should be sin to cover up an ass that fine!" Laxus let out a low growl, stalking over to the other male with curled fists.

"The fuck did you just say about my sister you little bitch?"

"I said, 'it should be sin to cover up an ass that fine'," Bacchus grinned, and Laxus shot forward. Sting was surprised when he heard Lucy snort in response to the brawl in the hall.

"You're not concerned?"

"Please, they do this all the time. Bacchus and Laxus met when they were eight at some mixed martial arts competition, and they've had this intense rivalry ever since. Bacchus may seem like a perverted asshole, but he only does it to get a rise out of older siblings and boyfriends. When he's fighting girls, he just gets super pervy to piss them off. He's pretty honourable when he's not trying to fight, though," Lucy smiled fondly, "When Laxus was away at the championships, Bacchus would take over the role of 'bodyguard' for him, so I was never left unsafe."

"Wait, Bacchus is into Krav Maga as well?"

"No, he does Chinese martial arts. Professionally, he does Piguaquan and Bajiquan, although he's become pretty proficient at Zui Quan, if I remember correctly," at this point, Laxus and Bacchus had each other in an odd kind of body lock, and Sting wasn't quite sure who's arms belonged to who.

"Are you two fighting in my halls?!" Erza flew in like a storm, her fiery red hair waving behind her as she approached. Lucy tugged on the back of Sting's shirt, pulling him away from what was surely to become the blast zone. Bacchus' eyes lit up as he spotted the RA.

"Hey, hey! If it ain't Titania! Come on, we were just fighting over titty queen's honour here-" and that was all it took for Erza to join in the fray. Sting looked vaguely disturbed, and Lucy sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

"Erza's known me since I was born, she's like the sister I never had. She's taken it upon herself to safeguard my honour," was the only explanation provided. Sting nodded in understanding.

"Explains the switchblade at three in the morning."

"Thanks for reminding me," Lucy then strode forward, yanking Erza by the collar to get her attention, "Erza! What do you think you were doing, threatening Sting like that? Honestly-"

In the midst of the chaos, where Laxus and Bacchus had ended up putting three holes through the walls, and Erza was crushing Lucy between her breasts as she went on dramatically about how Lucy was a _"precious little angel who simply needed the extra protection"_ , Sting couldn't help but dread the rest of the year.

**From: Pincushion**

_Might wanna run, the explosives brat is Lucy's cousin. As much as he dislikes everybody, he'd take every opportunity to beat your ass. He heard from Cobra, who told his toxicology prof._

"Hey, blondie! You got a cousin after my ass too!"

"Goddamit! Hey, Laxus, go stop Jackal before he gets suspended again! No, Erza don't-!"

**To: Pincushion**

_Too late to transfer?_

**From: Pincushion**

_I enjoy your misery. Rogue agrees._

**To: Pincushion**

_At least I get to see blondie's sexy ass thighs ;)_

"Sting you pervert!"

"You creepy blonde, why were you reading over my shoulder? Oh fuck, don't gang up on me! No wait- _Oh my God my back isn't supposed to bend like this!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh before I forget I don't own fairy tail etc etc


	3. The Grudge

Sting sighed as he stepped into the tub, discarding his bright blue towel on the rack by the curtain. The gym had been intensive today as he and Rogue had decided to try max testing themselves. Sting was proud to declare he could now bench two hundred pounds for five reps before he could no longer support the bar, a full fifty pounds more than the last time he had tested himself. After that hellish regime, they had moved on to the leg press, where Sting managed an impressive three hundred and sixty pounds for ten reps, and then came cardio, where Rogue had put his days as captain of the track team in high school to good use. All in all, the blond was exhausted and his muscles trembled, longing for a nice hot shower to ease the tenseness.

Sting reached for the small handle and cranked it to the left as far as it would go. He braced his arms against the wall in front of him, waiting for the sputter of the shower-head to become a steady stream of beating water pellets.

" _Son of a bitch!_ " Sting screeched as a blast of freezing cold water rained down on his back. He scrambled for the handle, nearly snapping it off as he twisted it right. Snarling, Sting wrapped his towel around his waist and strode out of the tiny bathroom, intent on cornering the cause of the cold.

"Lucy!" Sting hissed, glaring at the blonde, who lay on her bed comfortably with her laptop open before her. She glanced up curiously before launching her copy of  _Great Expectations_ at his head and turning bright red.

"You nasty perv! Get some clothes on!"

"You," he continued, catching the book and tossing it on his own bed, where it landed with a thump and bounced off to land on the floor on the other side, "Need to explain this!"

"Explain what?"

"Why there's no more hot water!" he yelled. A bang from the wall opposite them startled the blonde duo, and Bacchus' voice could be faintly heard saying,  _"Shut the fuck up, I have an accounting test tomorrow!"_

"Up yours, dickwad!" Sting roared back, wheeling on his roommate again, "So?"

"Tubby time," Lucy said seriously, staring at her screen with furrowed brows, "What's that word for whispers that starts with an 's'…?"

"Susurrus," Sting replied, "Anyway, what the fuck is tubby time?"

"It's me time, I need to work to stay this beautiful, you know," Lucy raised her head cockily, "I always did this back at the Kon-I mean, back home."

"Well, you may have had unlimited hot water there, but you forget that we're in a dorm, and that Crocus is undergoing a fucking drought. You need to learn to  _share,_ " Sting stressed the word, as if speaking to a five year old. Lucy's eyebrows flew up at the condensing tone, and she immediately shot back, "If it bothers you so much, why don't you take showers before I do?"

"Because I'm not the clinically insane person who wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to take a bubble bath," Sting grabbed a pair of boxers and shimmied them on underneath his towel, dropping the fluffy fabric once the black shorts were on. He plopped down on the bed in front of Lucy, who immediately averted her gaze to the glowing screen of her laptop, a faint pink rising to her neck. "Those are more than bubble baths, they're me time!"

"Well 'me' needs to become 'we' if this is gonna work out," Sting groused. Both parties paused for a moment as the implications of his words sunk in, and they flushed red, glancing away. Sting awkwardly cleared his throat. "So, compromise?"

"Hell no," Lucy deadpanned, hitting the 'enter' key on her laptop and slapping the screen down a moment later. "Freedom..."

"This," Sting announced, standing up, "Means war."

"Whatever," Lucy snorted, "I'm not losing."

"We'll see, titty queen."

_"Oi, Eucliffe, only I call her titty queen!"_

"Bacchus, shut up and study!"

* * *

"You declared war on Lucy," Midnight deadpanned the next day in Gildartz's class, "Over  _bath_  time."

"I haven't had a warm shower in the two weeks we've roomed together," Sting whispered as Gildartz began his lecture, "It's like I'm twelve again."

At Midnight's quizzical look, Sting elaborated, "Jenny Realight was in my class and we had a pool."

"Oh," was other other male's response, although he looked vaguely disturbed.

"She had the biggest tits in our grade-"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up."

* * *

"So," Sting placed his take-out bowl of teriyaki beef stir fry on the table before him, "Bathroom pranks, let's go."

Rogue raised a delicately arched eyebrow at his best friend, exchanging a glance with Gajeel.

"Does this have anything to do with your war with Lucy?"

"How did you know?" Sting asked, stunned. Gajeel snorted. "You have no idea how bad the grapevine here is. Bacchus heard you lot, he told Cana, Cana got drunk, and the entire campus knows now."

"Well fuck," Sting mumbled, spearing a piece of the gravy-heavy teriyaki with his chopsticks.

"What do you have planned?"

"I dunno, something tells me jump scaring her while she's showering is a stupid idea," Sting said, his mouth full. Rogue gave him a disgusted stare, "Have you no manners?"

"Fuck you," Sting grinned, "You're just jealous that this just cost me nine bucks, where you got ripped off for nineteen on vacation."

"I'm not the one who spent all of high school buying VitaminWater for three bucks and thought it was a good deal," Rogue quipped back, and Sting flicked a piece of beef at him in response. The brunet deftly dodged the projectile, which landed on a male student seated at a table nearby. The oblivious male continued scribbling away in his notebook, and Gajeel winced, watching the meat slide down his shirt.

"Why don't you just be a normal human being and do the saran wrap around the toilet bowl thing?" Rogue suggested. Sting paused as he considered the idea and grinned brightly. "So you're not entirely useless, Rogue!"

"I'm the reason you passed grade twelve English."

"And I'm the reason you got a hundred on your physics project back then, what's your point?"

* * *

Sting carefully hefted his bag full of goodies, wincing as the insides jostled against the plastic. A quick glance to the bed next to his assured him that his busty blonde roommate was still well in the realm of dreams, and with that in mind, Sting tip-toed his way to their tiny bathroom. The lights and exhaust both came on and he hastily turned off the latter, closing the door behind him as he did so.

A mischievous glint coloured his baby blue eyes and he pulled out the large roll of saran wrap with a gusto. Sting flipped up the toilet seat and began to carefully place the shiny plastic over the rim, ensuring that it would remain almost entirely invisible to the bleary eyes of Lucy. Finished, he replaced the seat and cut away any excess wrap, tossing the remainder in the trash. Sting pulled out his phone and snapped a picture, grinning as he sent it off.

**To: Reyossss, Dr Wendy, Pincushion, FLAMINGFUCKER, Lawndartz, Alkie #1, Daddy Weiss, Daddy Skia.**

_One, two, three, four, I declare a bathroom war!_

* * *

Lucy's shrill shriek was loud enough to rouse the dead.

Sting cackled madly, scrambling off his bed and towards the bathroom to survey the damage, stopping only to listen to Bacchus falling off his bed and swearing on the other side of the wall.

"Sting!" Lucy was hovering several inches above the toilet, one hand braced against the sink and the other tugging her shirt down to cover the necessities, "What the fuck have you  _done_?"

"It's war, bitch! Take my hot water, and this is what you get!" Sting nodded seriously. Lucy sputtered incoherently for a moment before collecting herself. "You made me sit in my piss because I fucking wasted the water?"

"Yeah!"

"It is _on_!" Lucy snarled, "If it's a war you want, it's a war you get!"

Sting continued to smile triumphantly as a shiver of foreboding ran down his back.

* * *

"...and as such, Hardy had to-" the dull voice of Professor Geer filled the room as students hastily clicked away on their keyboards and dragged their highlighters down the pages of  _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_ , a text Sting vaguely remembered doing once in tenth grade and never touching again. The blond tore his gaze away from his laptop's blank screen to gaze at his seatmate, who was staring determinedly ahead, a furious look in her brown eyes.

"How was tubby time?" Sting whispered.

"Wonderful, thank you, I made sure to use up all the hot water cleaning up the piss on me. After all, heat kills germs," Lucy sneered.

"Oh, is the little princess upset she got messy?" Sting cooed, leaning closer. Lucy scowled and tilted her head upwards, till she was mere inches away. "A little messy isn't even going to  _begin_  to describe your face once I'm through with you, you little-"

"Miss Heartfilia, Eucliffe, as interesting as it would be to see you to ravish each other, reserve that for your dorm room, please. You two do happen to share one if I recall the rumours," Professor Geer stated blandly, and the two jumped away as if shocked with lightning. The professor rolled his eyes as his class snickered, and he continued, "Which one of you two wishes to explain the significance of the strawberries?"

"T-the strawberries?" Sting stuttered.

"Yes, Eucliffe, were you listening at all or were you preoccupied by Miss Heartfilia's visage?"

"Of course not! Um...the strawberries symbolized..." Sting discretely shifted to his 'cheatsheet' tab, alternately known as 'Rogue's High School English Notes', and blurted out, "Penises! Wait, what? No, sorry-"

"A little more detail next time, but yes, that is the gist of it. Miss Heartfilia?" Lucy smiled and continued where he left off, "To be more specific, the scene with the strawberries can be seen as foreshadowing for the rape later on, and the strawberries themselves can therefore be interpreted as penises."

"Very good. Was Miss Heartfilia the only one not asleep in grade ten? This is basic review, I expect better of you all," and with that, Professor Geer returned to writing on the blackboard in his terrifyingly neat cursive. "There will be a quiz tomorrow on everything we've learned so far."

The class let out a collective groan, making note of the date in their planners, and Sting immediately turned to Lucy.

"Roomie. Bestie. Will you-"

"Finish that thought and I will rip out your goddamn spine."

At the front of the room, Professor Geer smirked.

* * *

**From: Unknown**

_You declared a bathroom war on my sister_

**To: Unknown**

_Who is this?_

**From: Unknown**

_Cobra, you dumbfuck. Now answer the question._

**To: Rotmouth**

_In my defense, she started it. Wait, how did you get my number?_

**From: Rotmouth**

_I don't give a fuck who started it but bathrooms are where people get naked. So if you see my sister naked, I'll have to rip out your eyeballs._

**To: Rotmouth**

_SIR YESSIR. Wait, you didn't answer my question._

* * *

Sting dashed to the bathroom, barely pausing to turn on the lights, and yanked off his boxers as he unceremoniously plopped himself on the toilet.

"Made it," he sighed, closing his eyes in relief. Perhaps challenging Rogue to a burrito eating contest was a stupid idea, but the look of horror on his best friend's face and he drowned his third helping was well worth the fiery shit he was about to let loose.

Sting opened his eyes and released a high pitched scream of terror.

Hanging from the ceiling was a familiar mane of stringy black hair. So familiar, in fact, that Sting felt as though he were eight and he had just snuck into bed after watching the movie his father had  _specifically_  told him not to.

"The Grudge! Oh  _God_ , it's out to get me!" Sting was torn between getting up and running for his life (though if the movie taught him anything, it was that the Grudge was a persistent little shit, no pun intended), and remaining seated as he literally shat himself in terror.

"Bwahahaha!" Lucy was doubled over at her position just outside the doorway, "This is what you get! I win this round!"

"Blondie, this wasn't funny!" Sting wailed, "It's been eleven years and I still have nightmares!"

"Oh suck it up, Sting, it wasn't even that scary," Lucy rolled her eyes.

"That movie traumatized a _generation_ , okay."

* * *

Later that night, Sting huddled under his blankets, ensuring that his toes were not peeking out of the cloth (despite the knowledge that in the movie, the Grudge had managed to find its way into the bed under the comforter). Just as he squeezed his eyes shut for the nth time, he felt his heart literally stop as a pair of arms wound around his waist, and he shrieked when an unholy croak filtered through his ears.

" _Hail Mary, full of-_ " the last time Sting could recall praying this hard was after confession in elementary school, and he hoped he had enough brownie points up top to save him from his certain doom.

"Bonus points!"

"Goddamit, Lucy!"

* * *

"The Grudge, Eucliffe, really?" Midnight raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow at his seatmate.

"Fuck you, that movie was horrifying. Horrifying!" Sting hissed, and Midnight rolled his eyes in response. "You are the biggest bitchbaby I've ever met. That movie was shit. Now  _Jumanji_ , that movie was terrifying-"

"Shh!" Sting clapped his hand over the third years mouth, glancing around the room furtively, "Don't give her any ideas!"

"She's not even in this building, you dumbass, she's in..." Midnight glanced at his laptop, flipping to a new tab, "Human Perception and Cognition with Ul Milkovich. That's across the goddamn campus."

"This is  _war_ , Midnight,  _war_! She has spies everywhere!" Sting snarled, and Midnight snorted. The older male swept his arms outwards in a grand gesture and stared at the blond pointedly. "Right. Her spies. A group of zombified second year physics students."

"No, look! See Gildartz? His daughter, Cana, is best friends with Lucy. Gildartz tells Cana, Cana tells Lucy, Lucy has the upper hand on me!" Gildartz was, at this point, demonstrating the most aerodynamic way to build a paper airplane. Midnight's eyebrows had disappeared well into his hairline.

"Right."

"You don't understand, you-" Sting froze, peering at the older student. Midnight was best friends with Cobra. Cobra was Lucy's brother. Cobra absolutely loathed Sting, and if Lucy told him about the war, then the toxicology major wouldn't be above enlisting Midnight to spy on him...

"You...?"

"Nothing!" he squeaked, "I just...how did Lucy find out about the Grudge, though?"

"Who else knows?" Midnight asked. Sting tapped his chin in thought. "Well, dad and daddy Skia definitely know, but they've never spoken to her, Natsu, but he wouldn't tell her, Gajeel...nah. That leaves...Rogue! Oh that traitorous bastard!"

"Midnight! You know my rules about laptops, put that thing away, you can stalk Heartfilia at a later date!"

* * *

"Et tu, Rogue?" Sting clutched the brunet tightly. Rogue pinwheeled his arms in an attempt to stabilize himself.

"What the f-"

"Wherefore!" Sting's eyes were watery and his lower lip jutted out in an over-dramatic fashion as he clung to his best friend like a koala to a tree, "Wherefore hast thee betrayed me in such a dastardly manner?"

"Are you drunk?" Rogue asked, attempting to extricate himself from the Physics Major's deceptively strong grip, "What betrayal? And I thought you were doing D'Urbervilles in English, not Shakespeare."

"No, I'm not drunk, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Speaking of D'Urbervilles, strawberries mean penises? Since when?" Sting had attempted to hook his legs around Rogue's waist in an attempt to truly imitate the koala he was becoming.

"Since then. Hardy had to cover his scandalous writing somehow, and strawberries have always been seen as vaguely sexual fruits," Rogue said, "And no, I've no idea what you're talking about."

"The Grudge, Rogue, the Grudge," Sting replied, and Rogue snickered lightly. "Oh yes, I heard. Tell me, does the little Stingy-Bee need daddy Weiss to give him a tucky-tuck into bed? I'll ask Lucy to check your closet for you- _ow_!"

Rogue rubbed his smarting cheek, scowling at the blond. Sting cheerfully smiled back.

"You were saying?"

* * *

Sting shifted his gaze between the bright blue hairdryer and the bottle of baby powder.

"You're sure this will work and not cause a fire?"

_"Chillax, will ya? I've done it a thousand times to Yukino, it hasn't exploded on her yet! Jackal showed me how, and you know how he is,"_ Natsu's chipper tone filtered through the phone cradled between Sting's shoulder and ear.

"Yeah, I remember. God, graduation was insane, remember the fireworks? Anyway, remind me again how you and Yukino ended up dating? Because she is too good for you," Sting slowly pulled off the purple lid of the powder, and began to carefully tip the white substance into the grills of the dryer.

_"You were the one who introduced us back in fourth grade."_

"And I regret it every waking minute of my life," Sting said, "Seriously, she's one of my best friends and I've yet to find out where she's found the patience to put up with you for ten years. Hell, date you for like, four of them."

_"I don't know, but thank Christ for whatever it is. Anyway, do you have glitter?"_

"Glitter?" Sting's eyebrows shot up as he sifted through the plastic bag of items Natsu had ordered him to purchase, "Um, yeah, why?"

_"Have you ever tried to get glitter out of your hair? Impossible. Toss some in there, clean up the evidence, set up a camera and sit back and enjoy the show. Luce'll never see this coming!"_

* * *

Sting had just finished the last of his assigned work from Gildartz's class when a howl of fury rang out, the source unmistakeably Lucy.

The moment he caught sight of her, Sting lost it.

Lucy's face was the perfect mixture of horror and incredulity. Her wet hair was caked with pasty white talc, and her face was as white as a geisha's. Glitter coated every inch of her upper body, as if she had just returned from a rave off campus. Lucy gagged, spitting out the sparkly material.

"W-what the fuck?"

"Oh my God! Your  _face_!" Sting managed to wheeze out between bursts of laughter.

Lucy launched her hairdryer at him. He evaded the makeshift weapon with ease as he ran out of the bathroom, calling behind him, "We've got about fifteen minutes to get to class, might wanna run!"

"Eucliffe!"

* * *

"Miss Heartfilia," Professor Geer's eyes had widened, much to Sting's neverending amusement, "What on Earth?"

" _Eucliffe_ ," Lucy spat venomously. Sting was pleased to see that Lucy had not managed to get the glitter out of her hair. She wore a red turtleneck, most likely in an attempt to cover up the sparkly expanse of her chest, and her hair was dripping wet and powder-free, although the sparkles were clearly visible from a distance, catching the light and reflecting off much like a disco ball.

"That certainly explains a lot," Professor Geer said drily, "Now seat yourself, and for Heavens sakes, dry your hair, you will catch a cold."

Lucy nodded in assent as she ascended the steps and shimmied her way down the aisle to Sting, who felt a small twinge of guilt pass through him when he caught her light tremors. While he had intended this to be a simple prank, he would never forgive himself if it culminated in her illness-he knew all too well what missing even a single class could do to one's grades. He deftly unbuttoned his flannel shirt and tossed it over her head.

"You heard the weirdo," Sting mumbled when she gave him a confused glance, "Dry your hair. The war won't work if you're sick."

"Thank you," she replied quietly. Sting placed the back of his hand against her forehead and felt his lips pull downwards.

"Doesn't look like you got a fever," Sting then thrust his coffee in her face, "Warm up, just in case! Your brothers will have my head if you get sick."

"Nice to know the reason behind your sudden charity," Lucy snarked, taking a large swing of the coffee, and gagging almost immediately.

"Is this pure black coffee?"

"This is an 8 AM class, how do you expect me to stay awake, blondie?"

"Like normal people, with energy drinks, not this tar!"

"Don't like, don't drink. Here _I_ , the great Sting Eucliffe, have offered my expensive brew to you, and you dare to insult-"

"If you two are quite done flirting with each other, I believe we have a quiz to begin."

It was only then that Sting noticed that the entire class had their attention focused on them.

* * *

**From: Unknown**

_If she gets sick, I swear to God, nothing short of divine intervention will save you_

**To: Unknown**

_Cobra? Did you get a new number?_

**From: Unknown**

_This is Laxus_

**To: Mob Boss**

_Right. My bad. She won't get sick, I swear!_

**To: Mob Boss**

_How did you get my number?_

**To: Mob Boss**

_Laxus?_

**To: Mob Boss**

_Dude?_

* * *

Sting groaned as the onslaught of cold water hit his back. The drought on Crocus had reached drastic levels, so terrible that the campus quad had completely dried up and the grass had yellowed far too early for fall due to the lack of maintenance. Between that and Lucy's childish need to waste all the hot water in her bubble baths, Sting hadn't had a warm shower in what seemed like eons.

Sighing, he reached for his soap, only to discover the bottle was very much empty. Groaning again at his misfortune, Sting had two options; water down and drown in AXE later, or make good use of Lucy's fruity soaps. While he could hose up in AXE, his hair was an entirely separate matter...perhaps Lucy had some of the spray-on shampoo he saw girls using so often?

Shrugging, Sting made to grab the shower handle when he caught sight of the curtain shifting to his right. Swallowing thickly, he vaguely recalled watching a movie about some sort of entity that resided in mirrors and the reflections killed their real world counterparts, one scene having took place in a bathroom not unlike the one he was in. After the Grudge, he was taking no chances. Summoning every inch of his courage, Sting yanked the curtain to the side and lurched forward with a raised fist, only to pause inches before Lucy's startled face.

An awkward pause rang as both parties registered several things. On Sting's behalf, it was that Lucy was holding a toy hand, much like the kind one bought at a Halloween store. On Lucy's behalf, it was the Sting was very much naked and wet.

" _Perv!_ " Lucy squeaked, dropping the hand and covering her eyes. Sting squacked, nearly pulling down the bar in his haste to shut the curtain.

"You're the one who fucking came in here while I showered!"

"S-shut up! I'm leaving!" Lucy slammed the door of the bathroom as she dashed out. Sting slid to the floor of the porcelain tub, the chill of the air a blessing against his suddenly heated skin. Just how much of him had she seen?

"Why me?" he moaned.

* * *

"What's this I'm hearing about Bunny Girl seein' you naked?" Gajeel grinned, sliding into place on his side of the booth.

"She snuck in on me!" Sting protested weakly. Rogue, who had plopped down next to the blond, wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Good God, Sting, your clothes smell positively atrocious."

"The washing machines are out of service, I'm running out of shit to wear," Sting said. The Physics Major was down to his final pair of sweatpants, and those were for a literal rainy day-they were due to have a thunderstorm sometime this week, much to the relief of the city. Students impatiently awaited the reprieve that was to be brought on by the rainfall, many just as exhausted by the lack of moisture in the air as Sting himself.

"That is rancid," Rogue huffed, "At least wash them by hand."

"Can't, I need to save up whatever water I can for showers. It's too much effort, anyway."

"So is continuing this silly war. Speaking of, when do you plan on ending it?" Rogue asked. Gajeel glanced up from his notes curiously, eager to hear the response.

"This week, definitely," Sting affirmed, "I have big plans for her. She's down to her final set of clothes as well, after all."

"That's fuckin'  _creepy_  man, why do you know that?" Gajeel looked somewhat disturbed.

"Always knoweth thy enemies weakness."

"Panty sniffin' perv."

* * *

Humidity hung thick in the air, a certain sign of the torrents about to befall the University. Dark clouds ominously covered the sky, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminated spots above. Rain buckets were strategically placed across the grounds, ready to store water for a later date. Students who had previously chose to stay outside to embrace the sweet relief from the dryness had taken one look at the disastrous shower to come and opted out, unwilling to brace the storm.

" _Lucy Heartfilia!_ " Sting yelled from the middle of the quad. The few students milling about the area hastily made their way indoors, the desire to remain safe and dry overcoming their need to know what was to transpire next-it wasn't as if they wouldn't find out anyway, the grapevine at Crocus University was a legendary being, sustained solely by Cana Alberona, a second year whose major nobody was quite sure of.

Lucy waved goodbye to the aforementioned brunette before turning her undivided attention to her roommate.

"What, Eucliffe?"

"What say you we end this war right here, right now? Our final battle!"

"Eucliffe, we are ten seconds away from a torrential downpour, can this not wait?" Lucy indicated the dark skies above, the deep rumble of thunder serving to drive her point home.

"Hell no! This is why it must be done now! Because I, the one and only Sting Eucliffe, challenge you, Lucy Heartfilia, to a mud fight! If I win, we split the hot water! If I lose, you get all the hot water you want!"

"No," Lucy said simply as she wheeled around. Sting grinned. He had had a feeling that she would pull something like this, so he had come prepared.

Lucy froze as the feeling of something wet collided with her back. Sting let out a triumphant roar as the rain began, washing the mud off Lucy's shirt. The petite blonde whipped around, murder written in her eyes.

"Oh, it's on!"

Lucy scooped up a healthy pile of mud, launching it with a ferocious speed. Sting side-stepped the projectile with a nonchalant expression, throwing one back in response, his actually reaching the target.

"Ha! Never face the Physics Major in this game! I have already calculated the speed and angles at which to throw-fuck!" Sting sputtered as a blob of mud made itself home in his hair. Lucy smirked cockily. "Maybe the Physics Major should talk less and work more."

Sting growled, running forward and throwing another pile of mud, which met with Lucy's chest with a satisfying squelch. Lucy shrieked as the dirt slid into her cleavage.

"Sting! This bra cost me a hundred and fifteen bucks!"

"What the fuck is it made of, gold thread?" Sting was taken aback by the price. Did those flimsy pieces of nothing she called a bra really cost so much?

"Might as well be!" another mud bomb met with Sting's favourite sweatpants.

"Dammit, blondie, that was my last set!" Sting pouted, scrubbing it off as best he could with his hands. He collected the slimy muck and swung his arm forwards, cheering when it hit Lucy smack in the middle of her face.

"You little shit!" she screamed, "You're done for!"

Lucy ran forwards, ready to tackle him to the ground. Sting braced himself as she hit his hard chest, and he stumbled forwards in an attempt to balance out the weight thrust at him, throwing his arms out to catch himself.

Sting's eyes widened when he realized how insinuating their position would appear to passers-by. His hands were placed right by her head, and his legs pinned hers to the ground. His face hovered several centimeters above her own, so Sting was able to see each and every inch of her countenance. Mud caked a majority of her body, and her eyeliner and mascara had run down her face, giving him the impression of a very depressed mime. Her hair was bunched in a messy knot by the right side of her neck, and she had lost one of her earrings in the fight. All in all, she was a mess and Sting was unable to hold back his guffaws.

"You look fuckin' ridiculous!" Lucy bared her teeth at him, gagging when some of the mud dripped into her mouth.

"You little shit," she repeated as a flash of pain crossed her profile, gone so quickly Sting wasn't sure it had been there in the first place. "Look what you've done!"

"I win!" Sting laughed, "I win! Hot water for me!"

"How did you win?" Lucy snapped, although her eyes were twinkling with mirth as well, "We never had any set parameters for what qualified as a win!"

"I have you pinned to the ground at my mercy, if that isn't a win, I'm not sure what is!" one of Sting's hands lifted up and he waggled his fingers, "Meaning I get to do this!"

Sting's hand found Lucy's side and poked it. She squealed in response, jerking to the side.

"Sting! Stop!"

"Nah ah! This is revenge, blondie!" his fingers continued to poke her side as she let out gales of laughter, tears leaking down her face, "Take my hot water, will ya?"

"Well, well," a deep baritone sounded from behind them, "What have we here."

Sting felt an ominous quiver run down his back as he rolled off Lucy and looked up.

Cobra's mouth was twisted up in a resemblance of a smile, although his sharp teeth made it very off-putting to say the least. His lab coat was drenched all the way through, clinging to his muscular form tightly, and his boots were muddy up the ankle.

"Erik!" Lucy smiled brightly, finally catching her breath. She made to rise up, but collapsed down with a wince. Her hands immediately flew to her leg, massaging the area where Sting knew the bone bruise lay-and where his leg had locked hers in place.

"Shit, blondie," Sting hissed. Her pained expression earlier finally made sense-the physical exertion behind the fight had been too much for the fresh injury to remain silent. "I completely forgot."

Cobra's malicious smile had melted to a feral glare as he swooped down to grab his sister. "I'm gonna fucking murder you when this is done, Eucliffe. Follow me."

* * *

"Oh sweet baby  _Jesus_ ," Sting groaned in relief. For the first time in a long time, a steady stream of blistering hot water rained across his body, and the feeling was enough to nearly send the blonde into a fit of tears.

"Fortunately, the chemical station showers have the heat option here," Cobra said as he carefully rubbed the pain ointment into Lucy's skin. The blonde bit her lip harshly enough to draw blood, and for that, Sting felt a pang of guilt once again run through him. "You have me to thank for this, I practically live in the lab. I refused to take cold showers and had whatshisface from engineering come fix this up for me."

"Sorry again, blondie," Sting said as he wrapped the scratchy towel provided around his waist and stepped out. Lucy shrugged, digging her nails into her brother's shoulder as he applied the gauze over top and offered her his spare sweatpants. "The gauze is just so the ointment won't transfer."

"Thanks, Erik," Lucy pecked him on the cheek as she gingerly slid off the table she was seated atop. The scarred male rolled his sole eye in response and squeezed her shoulder.

"Whatever. Eucliffe, grovel at her feet till I find Advil," Cobra made his way over to the first aid station to procure the bottle, leaving the roommates alone. "I know that little shit hid some in here somewhere..."

Sting cleared his throat awkwardly. "Look, blondie-Lucy. I'm sorry about your bruise, I totally forgot."

"I-I'm sorry too. For the whole...shower thing. I just _need_  the hot bath time, it's...I can't _not_  do it. I can't explain, but-" Sting held up his hand to stall her thoughts. " _Don't_  explain. People have weird habits, I really don't wanna know. Just leave enough for me and we can call it even."

"Sounds good to me," Lucy smiled beatifically, and Sting pinkened in response. What was with girls doing that whole 'cutesy-blushy' routine every time they apologized or forgave someone?

"Truce?"

"For now."

"Unfortunately," a deep grumble sounded from behind Sting, who whimpered as the voice registered. Laxus stood directly behind Sting, with a cocked eyebrow and a tilted head, his eyes lit up with an alarming glint, "Only _Lucy_  agreed to the truce.  _Me_ , on the other hand...I did tell you what would happen if she fell sick."

"She's not!" Sting insisted. He paused, turning to stare mournfully at the Psychology Major. "You aren't."

"38.5 degrees and counting," Cobra reported, returning with the Advil. Sting cursed, making for the door. "I'm out!"

"Oh no you don't," Laxus strode out, his longer legs allowing him to catch up in no time, "I'm not done with you just yet."

"...coffee?" Cobra offered a beaker full of the beverage, and Lucy took it with a somewhat confused stare.

"In a beaker?" Cobra shrugged and took a swing of his own drink, contained in a graduated cylinder. "I've made dinner over the bunsen burner before."

"Lucy, help! Ow, Laxus, don't-no,  _put the broom down!_ "

"...mac and cheese?"

"Sounds good."

" _Lucy!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own fairy tail, etc etc. Also, this is where the chapters start getting longer so enjoy the word count.


	4. Selling My Soul Onstage (For the 2K)

It was approximately 7 AM when Professor Mard Geer entered his desolate lecture hall. His first class didn't begin until 8 AM, but he preferred to be an hour early to both set up for the day and be available for any early morning stragglers with questions regarding the lesson. Ruthless and cold he may have been, but his student's grades were one of the utmost priorities in his life, ungrateful though they were.

" _Mard_ ," came a familiar sing song voice from the doorway. Mard let out a little sigh, running his hands over the angular length of his face.

"Miss Strauss, how may I be of service?"

Mirajane Strauss was a widely regarded as the campus beauty. With exotic white hair, breathtakingly blue eyes, and a luscious body to boot, not one person on campus could hold a candle to her kind personality and loving deposition. She smiled as she entered the room, donning a curve hugging black summer dress, and a sparkle in her pretty eyes that spoke of vast mischief.

For if there was one thing Mirajane Strauss was notorious for, it was her matchmaking tendencies. And when her eyes sparkled in that manner it meant no good for the receiving parties.

"Well, Mard, a little birdie on campus told me that Lucy and Sting were partners in this class on top of being roommates," Mira perched innocently on the edge of his desk, leaning forward. Mard politely kept his gaze to her eyes instead of on the healthy amount of cleavage her dress bared.

"I am certain the entire campus has known since day one, Miss Strauss, they made quite the ruckus."

"Always straight to the chase, don't you, Mard?" she sighed, and he rolled his eyes in response. "How many times must I remind you, it is  _Professor Geer_."

"I need you to do me a favour," ignoring him, she pressed forward. "Look after Lucy and tell me what she and Sting get up to."

"Are you opposed to a relationship blossoming between them? This is a first," he leaned back in his leather chair as Mira huffed and crossed her arms under her chest. "God, no. They would make beautiful children! Blonde haired angels running around with soulful brown eyes or heavenly blue eyes for me to spoil! Oh, they would be-"

"Miss Strauss, back to the point," he reminded her, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. For all her quiet grace, Mirajane had no reservations when it came time to plot the children of her current obsession.

"You remember what happened in Lucy's last relationship," immediately, he tensed up and frowned minutely. "Are you suggesting Eucliffe may try to pull what that...thing did? Eucliffe may be an aggravating and narcissistic thorn, but I can assure you he would not stoop that low. He has a fondness for her."

"Does he?" she squealed, "Then you simply have to get them to do something together! Or at least try and get them to get into couple-y situations!"

"I refuse to interfere in their love lives, especially not with Dreyer and Cobra hassling him," Mard deadpanned, and Mira's face fell. A pout rose to her lips. "You're no fun, Mard!"

"And you try to have too much fun," he responded. Mira groaned and jumped off his desk, wheeling around. "Fine, meanie, guess I'll just have to run around setting them up..."

"I said I would not run interference, I did not say I would not inform you of their interactions," the look of glee on her face as she turned to meet his gaze was well worth the statement.

"Thank you so much! This is going to be so much fun!" Mira bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly, and he couldn't help but compare her to an over eager child. "Oh, the beautiful babies, I see them now!"

"Not with her siblings around, you won't," he said. Mira's countenance turned demonic. "They shan't be messing with my godchildren..."

A shiver ran down his back. There was a reason she was known as the demon Mirajane. The Veterinarian Major took one look at the clock before squeaking. "Oh goodness, I'm going to be late to work! Oh, this is bad I have to go."

Mard's face immediately dropped. "Miss Strauss, it is seven in the morning, should you not be at home resting or preparing for class?"

"O...oh, this is nothing! Just another part-time job!" she laughed in a hollow manner, "Need to save up and whatnot!"

"Mirajane," the use of her first name had her freezing in place as the professor approached, a concerned look in his normally blank eyes. "Are you having difficulty monetary wise?"

"No! It's just...I do have to help put Elfman and Lisanna through University," her face was to the floor, and she spoke in a quiet voice. "They do try to help, but there are three of us, and...well, tuition doesn't come cheap."

"We have student loans for this."

"And the debt that comes with it after? That's too much to handle right now, especially with what's going on back home..." she trailed off and Mard's gaze darkened. He knew all too well what was going on back home. He placed his hand against her cheek and lifted her head up, meeting her suddenly lifeless eyes.

"Mirajane, understand that I am here to help you if you require it. Please do not hesitate to ask me for help," his somber tone managed to convey what he normally couldn't, and Mira smiled brightly and hugged him. His arms hovered by his sides before he patted her back awkwardly. Affection had never been his forte.

"Thank you, Mard," she pulled back and waved, "Now remember, we must make StiCy happen!"

"StiCy?" he shook his head, "You are an oddity, Miss Strauss."

"Always!" she replied cheerfully as she made for the door. Mard paused for a moment before calling out, "Mira."

The woman turned around and was met by a heavy fabric draping around her shoulders. Mard adjusted his coat around her before nodding. "It is chilly this morning, and it wouldn't do for you to fall ill so early in the semester."

"Thank you," she said softly, blushing.

"Mira," he said again, and she looked up. His eyes were dark with worry, "Please remember what I said."

"I will," she replied. He shook his head. " _Promise me_."

"I promise," the lie hung heavy in the air, but neither of the two chose to address it. Instead, she walked out the door, dwarfed in his coat, and he returned to his desk and flipped open a new tab on his laptop as he pulled out his credit card. Going to the student housing page, he plugged in the student number he had memorized ages ago and sighed when he saw the bill. Rolling his shoulders, he began to type in his credit card number in the payment box.

It wouldn't be the first time he had done this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

* * *

"Gas prices are insane!" Sting hissed, his sky blue eyes widening in terror as the number on the machine continued to climb higher and higher. Seated shotgun in the car, Rogue snorted delicately. "Your fault for owning a Mercedes, idiot. The fuel for this is different. And more expensive."

"It's okay, baby, Uncle Rogue is just jealous he doesn't own a car," Sting patted the head of his car soothingly, as if it had heard the other males words and was offended.

"I don't need a car, Sting. It's more economical if we share," Rogue said. His eyes remained fixed on the pages of the heavy text in his hands, armed with a highlighter and pen as he scribbled notes in the margins.

"Holy Mary, mother of God," Sting whistled as he looked at the final price.

"Sting, you haven't prayed since primary school, I doubt doing it now will be of any use," Rogue dodged the balled up wrapper that came flying through the window without looking up. "Missed."

"Fuck you," the blond mumbled. Sighing, he dug through the pocket of his sweatpants and extracted his ratty leather wallet, flipping it open and selecting his green credit card. He inserted it in the slot and waited impatiently for the 'transaction complete' sign to flash.

To his surprise, and horror, his card came back out and the words 'rejected' flashed instead.

"Rogue!" he shrieked, alarming the green-haired man on the other side of the machine. "Rogue, the machine broke, it said my card was rejected!"

"What?" Rogue exited the car and walked over, snatching the card from his best friend. "You probably inserted it wrong..."

The dark haired man pushed the card in again, and his eyes widened when it came out again with the same message. He pressed the card into Sting's hands and pulled out his own wallet, selecting an identical card from one of the slits in the leather, sliding it into the insert slot. This time, the 'transaction complete' sign flashed and along with the card came a receipt.

"My card works just fine..." he mumbled. "We need to get to a bank."

Sting nodded hurriedly, throwing the door shut behind him as he entered the driver's seat. Rogue entered shortly after, a scowl on his face. The book he had been reading before connected squarely with the side of the Physics Major's face.

"I fucking paid for your gas, you owe me. With interest."

"Nearly twenty years of friendship means nothing to you?"

"That was a hundred and sixty dollars, Sting, and I am a broke University student. Twenty years means nothing."

* * *

"Can I play the funeral dirge now?" Gajeel whispered, staring at his cousin out of the corner of his eye. Rogue, uncharacteristically, smacked him upside the head and continued to observe Sting.

The blond had been in a catatonic state ever since they had left the bank, so much so that Rogue had to ask Gajeel to come help carry him back to the common room. His blue eyes stared blankly at the floor, his mouth slightly ajar, and Rogue had to periodically check to ensure he was breathing he was so still.

"It's not that bad, Sting," he said comfortingly. "I'll let the gas slide, you don't owe me."

"Forty dollars," he finally whispered. "I have all of forty dollars to my name."

"You haven't have a job since the beginning of first year, no wonder your accounts are depleted," Gajeel grumbled.

Sting began sobbing in earnest, big, fat tears rolling down his face. Gajeel groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back. "Dude, holy fuck, calm down."

"I-I-I'm b-br- _roke_!" he wailed.

"Sting?" a soft voice came from the entrance of the common room. "Are you alright?"

"Wendy!" Rogue smiled. "Come in. He's not doing too well."

"I can see that," the pretty Health Sciences student said as she crossed the threshold. Though eighteen years old, Wendy Marvell was a petite girl, with gentle, barely noticeable curves, and a slightly rounded face that spoke of baby fat. She was not to be underestimated, however, as her medical genius had garnered her a full four year scholarship, and there were rumours of an early acceptance to medical school.

"W-Wendy," Sting sniffed pitifully, "I need a job."

"Why don't you check the job listings board?" Wendy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sting's mouth dropped open, and he sputtered, "J-job listings board?"

Wendy pointed to the full bulletin board on the opposite wall. "Yeah, they're small jobs you get paid for. The kinesiology classes use it all the time to hire people to study for projects and things like that."

Sting leapt forward, squishing the bluenette to his chest tightly. She squeaked, flailing her arms as he nuzzled the top of her head affectionately. "Bless you, oh angel from above! Bless you!"

He let go of her and ran for the board, Rogue and Gajeel on his heels. Wendy fell to the ground, rubbing her back as her eyebrow lifted in confusion. "You're...welcome, I guess?"

"What in fuck was that?" Mest Gryder, a second year Criminology Major who was best friends with Wendy, asked as he held out a hand to help her up. She rose, brushing off her skirt and crossing her arms under her chest. "I actually  _do not_ want to know. Come on, I think the library is empty enough to start working on your Criminological Theories essay..."

Sting hemmed and hawed as he stared at the board, one hand rubbing his chin. The requests he saw were odd sounding to say the least. There was a bright yellow flyer from the kinesiology department asking for volunteers to come in twice a week to run on treadmills for twenty minutes and get paid twenty dollars per session for a month, a pink one from the psychology department requesting participants for an experiment (though he was staying far away from the social science requests, he knew all about the Milgram experiments), a green one from the sociology department asking for help in some sort of questionnaire type thing...nothing that piqued his interest.

"Why don't you just take the kinesiology request?" Rogue pulled at the paper. "It's easy enough."

"I dunno, man, there is something inherently wrong with fifty people watching and taking notes as you do your cardio," Sting shuddered. He could just imagine it, the people observing him in white lab coats, scribbling away furiously on their clipboards as they monitored his heart beat and breathing patterns. Would they inject things into him to see how his muscles worked? Force him into an MRI to get the images?

"You're broke, you can't be picky. This gets you, what, $160 in a month? Twenty bucks twice a week for four weeks? That's pretty fucking amazing," Gajeel looked like he was seriously considering it an option for himself.

"I work out for myself and myself alone," as an afterthought, he added, "And for the ladies. Ow! Dammit, Rogue!"

The blond scowled up at his friend, rubbing his stomach as he was doubled over.

Then he saw it.

"Model required for art class," he read aloud from the paper hidden at the bottom. "Pays...holy fucking shit."

"What?" Gajeel bent down to squint at the page, immediately gaping. "T-two thousand. This guy is paying  _two thousand fucking dollars_  for you to stand around for him to paint."

"Mine!" Sting screeched, ripping the paper and cradling it to his chest protectively. Across the room, Mirajane Strauss rolled off the sofa she had been napping on, falling to the ground with a squeak. Rogue winced, striding over to help her get back on the sofa.

"Thank you," she mumbled sleepily, drawing a heavy black coat over her shoulders and curling up again.

"You are the luckiest man on the planet," Gajeel whispered, terror in his red eyes. "You woke her up and didn't die."

Sting made sure to cross himself before he left the room.

* * *

"Oooh, this is pretty," Sting lifted a finger to touch the canvas, where swirls of white and dark blue created a night sky.

" _Don't touch that!_ " Rogue snapped, pulling his arm behind his back in a painful lock. He dragged him away down the hall, Gajeel strolling beside him leisurely. A bright pink flyer stuck out of the side of his messenger bag, but the manic glint in his eyes prevented anybody from asking funny questions.

"But it's pretty! Pretty things gets touched!"

"Are you five?" Rogue asked. "Lucy Heartfilia is pretty, do you touch her? Oh,  _Christ_ , forget I asked, please, for the love of all that is good and holy,  _don't answer that_ , I don't wanna know."

"You think Lucy is pretty?" Sting narrowed his eyes at his best friend.

"You'd have to be pretty blind not to think so," was his only response. The Biology Major smirked suddenly. "Don't worry, I'm not crazy enough to pursue your girl."

"First off, she ain't my girl, she's her own person," at this, Gajeel shot him a surprised look, muttering under his breath, "So he can be a gentleman..."

"Second off, I'm just looking out for you, last week Dan Straight was hitting on her and Laxus fucking threw that guy halfway across campus after breaking his face," Rogue actually had to laugh at that. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"It wasn't!" Sting insisted. "I was there next to her! I saw it!"

"I wouldn't put it past Dreyer, man, I've seen him cave in a guy's chest cavity once," Gajeel inputted. "It was during a world championship, but still."

"Don't they have rules against that?" Rogue looked somewhat nauseated. Gajeel shrugged, and the trio continued on in silence. Well, mostly silence. Every time Sting opened his mouth, Rogue twisted his arm behind his back as a method of silencing him.

"B17, this is it," Sting grasped the handle and threw open the large doors, stepping into a room full of canvases.

Upon which were men.

Hundreds and hundreds of naked men.

Dread filling his veins, Sting glanced down at the paper held within his shaky grasp.

_Must be prepared to strip down and get nude!_

"The fine print," he choked, "We forgot to read the fine print!"

"Men!"

Sting screeched, wheeling around to meet eye to eye with the owner of the booming voice.

He was...small. Barely three feet tall, with a wild mane of orange hair and scruffy black stubble that dotted the area around his mouth. His face was very square, with deep lines, and his mouth was in a frown. He wore an open buttoned white shirt and matching pants, and clutched two bright pink bottles of swirling liquid.

"Men!" he repeated loudly. "I am Ichiya Vandalay Kotobuki! Who are you?"

"S-Sting Eucliffe! I'm here about the job adv-"

"My new nude model!"

Sting just about passed out when the bottle was waved beneath his nose.

"Hm...yes...your parfum is enriching. Powerful, like you. This parfum...the one of my creation pales before you," he leaned forward, pressing his nose to Sting's. The blond went cross-eyed for a moment.

"Men!" he yelled again, "You! You are perfect! This Saturday! You will report here this Saturday to model for me!"

"Too late to back out now," Gajeel muttered.

A thick sheaf of paper was thrust into the quivering Physics Major's grasp, and he nearly fell backwards from the sheer force. Ichiya was stronger than he looked.

"The guidelines! You must follow them. Have a nice day-"

Sting ran out of the room before the other man could finish.

* * *

Lucy stared at the pile of papers in front of her, and Sting squirmed.

"Look, can you help me or not?" he finally burst out. It had been an hour since his harrowing encounter with Ichiya, and he still felt like somebody had set ants crawling beneath his skin. The stench of that rancid perfume (parfum?) would haunt him in his dreams for the rest of his life, he knew it.

"Professor Kotobuki is...special, I'll give you that much. He's absolutely in love with Erza."

Sting threw back his head and laughed. Ichiya was clearly both touched in the head for thinking that pursuing Erza Scarlet was a wise idea, and also a very, very, very brave man. Exhaling hugely, he stared at his pretty blonde roommate, who furrowed her brows as she flipped the page, wrinkling her nose.

"He infuses these papers with perfume, it's disgusting...anyway, I can definitely help!" she whistled as she continued on. "This guy has got a lot of guidelines! Wow, we're gonna need to go shopping..."

"Shopping?" Sting vaulted from his bed to hers, belly flopping next to her and swinging one arm around her shoulders as he peered at the page. Lucy hissed, drawing her leg away from him, and he winced apologetically. The bone bruise still gave her issues.

"Yeah, see? He wants all your tan lines covered up, so we're gonna need foundation, and you need to be using a whole new line of body soap, he wants you smelling a certain way so your 'parfum doesn't clash with the incense'..." she read off the page, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher in disbelief. "Holy crap, this guy is insane."

Sting whimpered, retrieving his arm and covering his head with both the appendages. He was doomed. Well and truly doomed. Ichiya was clearly an evil warlock who was going to use his blood in a virgin sacrifice. It explained the horrid 'parfums' that made him sick to his stomach, the body preparation for the ritual, the incense that would be used during the ritual...amongst the ten thousand things wrong with the scenario, Sting was most definitely not a virgin. Would being a not-virgin sacrifice make his untimely end more painful? Would whatever demon he was being sacrificed to be angered by his not-virginness and torture him in retribution?

"First of all, the whole 'blood of a virgin' thing refers to virginal blood, as in blood that has never been used in a ritual before, so I'm fairly sure the, ah, 'demon' will be more than satisfied. Secondly, Professor Kotobuki is not a warlock, otherwise he would have used a love potion on Erza eons ago," Lucy's dry voice rang out. Sting stared at her sheepishly. He really did need to get his godawful habit of speaking his thoughts aloud unconsciously under control, God knows what kind of secrets he might have let out otherwise.

"You're the best roommate ever," he sighed, wrapping Lucy in a tight embrace. He knew just how much his 'unbathed, disgusting, germ-ridden' self bothered her, so he took great joy in squashing her whenever possible. The plus side was he got to feel her soft, creamy skin against his and inhale her delicious strawberry and chocolate scented shampoo discretely.

"Gross! Sting, off! Ow, ow, ow, bone bruise, bone bruise-!"

"Shit! Sorry!"

* * *

"Your essays were atrocious," Professor Geer deadpanned. "My five year old niece can put together a more coherent sentence than most of you. Is spell-check not a feature your computers come equipped with? Does the concept of editing not exist for you?"

His black eyes snapped up and stared at a snickering blond in the third row. "I do not understand what  _you_  find so amusing, Mr. Enjin, yours was perhaps the worst essay I had to force myself to mark."

Zancrow Enjin, a snarky Pharmacology Student, who, despite his thuggish appearance, carried a GPA of 4.2, immediately silenced himself and slid down his seat. To his right, his best friend, a man with white and black hair named Totomaru, rolled his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Sit up, your posture is atrocious!" Professor Geer snapped. "I cannot believe you would have the  _audacity_  to submit an expletive-laced essay to me and expect a decent grade-"

"What the fuck is eating _him_  out today?" Sting mumbled as he sneakily surfed the web for a decent pair of glittery shutter shades. Halloween was mere month away and Sting had decided to go as the stereotypical rave-goer. Unfortunately, daddy Skia, as he had affectionately grown up calling Rogue's father, had thrown out all of his old raving gear, leaving him scrambling online for replacements.

"I have no idea," Lucy whispered back, scowling when she caught sight of his laptop screen. "Sting, you've got a total of forty dollars in your bank and you're buying _shutter shades?_ "

"I'm getting 2K in a week, it's all good," he waved her off, opening a new tab to see if it was possible to find a neon orange snapback without any logos on it. He knew he had one, but knowing daddy Skia it was off in a Goodwill somewhere.

"Mr Eucliffe, do you care to share with the room full of idiots just what seems to have you in a good mood?"

Sting bit back the urge to spit out something along the lines of,  _'clearly it's whatever you're not getting',_  and instead shook his head weakly. He could deal with the snarky professor on any other day, but with his mood in a downspiral like this? His grades would follow.

"That wasn't a  _question_ , Mr Eucliffe," Professor Geer glared at him.

"It's nothing, sir, he's merely happy he has gotten a job off the boards with decent pay," Lucy interjected with a smile. Instead of rolling his eyes and continuing to berate the rest of the class, the man's cold black eyes bore a hole into the woman. "Miss Heartfilia, I didn't realize I was speaking with you, nor that you were Mr Eucliffe's mouthpiece."

Lucy flinched, avoiding his gaze, and Sting felt his hackles rising in response. Lucy wasn't the type of student to get yelled at, he could tell, nor was Professor Geer the type of person to turn on her when the two were on friendly terms. He found that he didn't like the way a look of shame crossed the blonde's face. He didn't like it  _at all._

"All due respect, sir, but there was no need to yell at Lucy," Sting's eyes narrowed darkly. "If something's going on in your life, that sucks, sorry to hear that, but there's no need to take it out on her or the rest of us."

At that moment, Sting witnessed something akin to confusion flash in the English Professor's eyes, but it was gone before he could give it too much attention. Instead, he procured a pile of stapled papers from his briefcase and turned back to the class with a perfectly blank face.

"Your essays. See to it that the corrections are taken seriously for your next one."

As the papers were passed up and down the rows, Lucy turned her head to the side and gave Sting a heartstoppingly beautiful smile. "Thank you," she mouthed.

All he could do was shake his head and hope he wasn't blushing.

* * *

"I need your people's advice," Gildartz bemoaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "Regarding Cana."

"Oh for fucks sakes," came half the class' groan.

Sting sighed and settled back in his chair, staring at the papers from Ichiya as Gildartz went off on a tangent.

"Why do you need foundation?" Midnight asked. Sting jerked up, giving his seat mate a surprised look. He had almost forgotten the third year was next to him seeing as he had an awful tendency to pass out for the entire period.

"Uh, modeling stint," Sting said. Midnight raised one, perfectly filled in eyebrow in response, and it was then that Sting noticed the unholy amount of makeup the man wore. Filled in eyebrows, foundation atop insanely pale skin, blush to make him look less like a corpse, neatly applied dark lipstick, and, of course, the eyeliner. Midnight's eyeliner and kohl application skills were legendary on campus, and some people swore up down and sideways that they had never seen it smudge, even after rubbing it absent-mindedly.

"Where do you get your makeup from?" Sting blurted out before he could stop himself.

"...excuse me?" was the amused reply. Sting hastily corrected himself, "I mean, you wear it...obviously...your lips aren't naturally that purple, are they...? If so, maybe we should see if Wendy-"

"It's lipstick, Eucliffe. Why do you-? Oh. The modeling gig," the older male tore off a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled down something quickly, pushing it his way. "There, that's the address. Tell anyone and I will end you."

Though not the most original threat, Sting knew that, unlike most others, Midnight really  _would_  end him. Painfully.

* * *

"Oh. My. Fucking. God," Lucy looked about ready to pass out as she entered the store. "Sting, where did you  _find_  this?"

"A friend," he replied vaguely. Though he had a feeling Midnight really wouldn't care if Lucy found out, there was never such a thing as being too careful.

Lucy took one look at the lipsticks wall and deadpanned, "Midnight."

"How did you-?"

"I have been searching for that shade of purple for four years and it's never available, yet there it is," Lucy waved at the wall. Sting gave her a concerned look. "Lucy, the wall is ten feet away and chock full of those little things, how can you tell?"

"I have a very good eye for makeup," she nodded seriously. Sting shook his head in amazement as she dug through her bag for the list. All the women in his life were insane. Batshit insane, and that included Wendy.

"First order of business! Foundation," Lucy turned to face Sting with a serious expression. "How bad are your tan lines?"

"I..." he glanced around furtively before answering. "Just on my...ass area. From swim trunks."

"Hm...alright!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a wide shelf, where Sting could see a colour gradient of various skin tones laid out before him. He raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the bottles, which fit snugly in his palm. "Lucy, this thing is fucking small. It won't cover my arm let alone most of my legs."

"You don't need to slap it on like paint, genius, you just need to even out your skin tone. Trust me, one bottle of foundation lasts me a few months," she nodded sagely. Sting rolled his eyes and replaced the tiny glass bottle, catching sight of a row of plastic that jutted out with small splotches of colour on them. He placed his finger under one, sliding higher and higher till he found his own skin tone and smiled brightly. "Hey, Lucy! This one! This is my colour!"

"No, you idiot, that just gives you a general range to look in! You always match to your jawline! Always!" she hummed as she pulled out a tester bottle and dabbed a bit on her hand before rubbing it against his jaw. She drew back with a contemplative expression on and shook her head. "Too light..."

"Just match to my skin tone?"

"You always go a shade darker!"

"You just said match to your jawline!"

"Find your jawline colour and go a shade darker!" she groaned, as if this were a widely known thing, though he supposed it was amongst makeup users. She turned again to the racks, pulling one out and repeating the process with his jaw. This time, her eyes lit up in glee. "This one! This one is it!"

Lucy paused to pull out one bottle of a different colour, nodding and placing it in their little basket. Sting's eyes drifted to the price label on the plastic dividers and screeched. "Lucy, it's fifty fucking bucks!"

"No, the one I'm buying is fifty bucks, the one you're buying is thirty."

"That's not any better!" Lucy rolled her eyes, waving a golden credit card she had procured from between her breasts. "Professor Kotobuki is letting us use his card for your supplies."

An evil glint filled Sting's eyes. If the professor-turned-warlock was letting him use his card, then he would definitely be buying top quality makeup. He was, after all, the great Sting Eucliffe. Nothing short of perfection would be touching him.

Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him to the next aisle, where hundreds upon hundreds of little sticks lay in groups. "Eyeliner time!"

Sting groaned.

* * *

"Women," Sting announced suddenly as he dropped onto the common room sofa, "Are absolutely terrifying."

"Only took you nineteen years to notice," Rogue replied as he turned the page of his biology textbook, frowning at whatever Latin (or was biology the one with Greek names?) term had popped up. His head flew up when a gigantic black bag was plopped in front of him.

"Nearly a hundred and fifty dollars worth of cosmetics is in this bag," Sting said seriously. Across the room, Mest and Wendy both sputtered, staring at the bag. The male turned to his much shorter friend with horror in his eyes, "Wen, you don't spend that much, do you? I paid for your makeup stuff when we went to Sephora last week, it was not that high!"

Ignoring the now squabbling duo, Rogue set aside the heavy textbook and reached into the bag, sifting through the contents. His brow furrowed as he spoke aloud, "Foundation, eyeliner, white eyeliner-"

"It's for your waterline, apparently," Sting interjected, staring intently at his friend's textbook. Just what was that picture depicting? He tilted his head and squinted. From that angle, it looked rather like a throat to him...

"Right. Eyeshadow, blush, mascara?" Rogue stared at the large tube quizzically. Sting shrugged, the textbook now in his grasp. He tilted it to the side and frowned. Now it looked like a stomach. "Hey, Rogue, what is this supposed to be?"

The dark haired man pulled the book low enough that he could see and immediately snorted. "For someone who claims to be so sexually active, you have a lot of difficulty identifying the act of copulation in a picture."

Act of-?

Oh.

"They let you look at porn in class? Holy shit, maybe I should switch majors...Ow! Wendy!"

* * *

"You're terrible at this, you know?" Sting said as he leaned against the wall parallel to where Lucy was working on the leg press. The Physics Major had finally decided to keep his promise of helping her work out, and was swiftly regretting it. It wasn't that his roommate was incapable of it, no, he was just more used to the competitive nature of his sessions with Rogue rather than the slow pace she had.

"Well," Lucy grunted, pushing the weights up, "If somebody hadn't run me over with their car-"

"Bumped. Bumped you."

"We wouldn't be in this mess and I would be pressing my regular three fifty," she hissed. Sting stared at the plates, adding up the numbers. Two seventy. A full eighty pound drop.

"You need to bring your legs closer to your chest," he stated.

"My boobs are kind of preventing me from doing that," his eyes involuntarily fell to the aforementioned body part, where they were bursting against the tiny pink sports bra she wore. "And so does the bone bruise."

He stared at her leg, ignoring the urge to gawk at the appendage as it tensed deliciously, and frowned deeply when all he saw was flawless skin. "Blondie, there's no bruise. What the fuck?"

"Makeup," she stared at him oddly. "I always use makeup to cover it up so I can wear shorts and skirts, perv."

"Holy shit!" his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Makeup can do that?"

"Yeah? That's how I'm gonna be fixing your tan lines, Sting," he froze. For that to happen, she would need to strip him of all his clothing, and that meant she would...she would see his...

"You are  _not_  seeing Sting Junior!" he snarled. "No way! I'll put that shit on myself!"

Lucy laughed loudly, the action causing her breasts to bounce as she lay back. Suddenly, all Sting could imagine was her laid out beneath him, her breasts heaving in a similar manner as she breathily moaned-

He shook his head violently. Where on Earth had that come from? Sure, Lucy was hot, like Rogue had said, he'd have to have been blind to have not noticed, but she was still Lucy, his annoyingly preppy roommate with terrifying older brothers who would dice him for thinking that way.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," she rolled her eyes, and Sting sputtered. "You...you're not a virgin?"

"Why did you think I wasn't?"

"Your psycho crazy brothers and protection squad seem to be a large factor."

"Nah, it was in eleventh grade with some guy at a party. I was pretty drunk, don't remember it all too well."

Sting snorted and returned his attention to observing her clinically as she continued pushing.

"Holy crap, look at her tits," came a mumble from the corner. Though said in a very low voice, Sting's ears were very sharp.

"Damn, those are the finest set I've seen in my fucking life," Sting glared at the gaggle of first years staring openly at his friend. His hand shot out, grabbing the peg of the press and stopping it. "Off. Enough for today, you'll tax out your leg."

"Shit, I'd let her tax out my legs any day," one of the boys snickered. Sting almost growled. It was one thing for  _him_  to get leery, he wasn't about to vocalize it, but these creeps didn't even know her and all they saw was a piece of meat. He extended a hand to help her up, and regretted it quickly when one whistled quite loudly. Lucy froze, staring fixedly at the ground.

Sting grinned when he saw the looming shadow behind them.

"Oh?" Laxus tilted his head slowly. "What are we whistling at, boys?"

Lucy laughed as she and Sting left the room, the male with his arm draped casually across her shoulders, waving at Laxus, "See you around, big brother!"

The boys went bone white very fast.

* * *

"Kinana!" Sting waved at the purple haired woman, who responded in the like shyly. "Sting! How may I help you?"

"Er...you're in the drama department, right?" she flushed deeply and nodded. "M-more so I help w-with costume design and p-plays and musicals...and...stuff..."

"Right! So...I got a question for you," Kinana pointed to the seat before her, and he seated himself on the cold metal. It was a nice, sunny day on the quad and most students had relocated themselves outdoors to soak up as much heat as possible before the inevitable cold front that was to arrive in November.

"You know in movies how sometimes there will be sex scenes?" Kinana squeaked, turning redder then before, and Sting was concerned she would fall over and faint. The woman was terribly shy and, if rumour held true, practically Cobra's sister, so he would have to tread extremely carefully lest he invoke his wrath twice.

"Y-yes, why?"

"They don't actually get the actors to have sex, so how do they keep the guy from having an erection?" Kinana stared at him pensively as she twiddle her thumbs. "W-well, they'll use these little sleeves and tie the...um...you know what down to the male's thigh."

"Do you have one of those?" Sting asked eagerly. "I need one!"

Kinana squeaked and nodded. "Y-yes! B-but...why?"

"Cause Lucy-" immediately her face went dark and her green eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

Sting shivered. Apparently Kinana was just as protective of the woman as the rest. "Not that! For the modeling thing Ichiya needs me to do."

Kinana winced sympathetically. "I'll get one to you by the end of today."

"Not right now?" he pouted. "The sooner the better!"

"We're about to have lunch, Eucliffe," Dobengal said dryly as he slid in next to his girlfriend. "So the end of today."

"Ninja!" Sting screamed.

Dobengal groaned.

* * *

"I have a dick sleeve," Sting exclaimed Friday evening, waving the aforementioned object around. "See? No more awkwardness!"

Lucy hummed absent-mindedly, scrolling away on her laptop. Sting pouted and waved his hands in front of the screen. "Lucy! Stop ignoring me!"

"Are you five?" she mumbled, typing away furiously. "Go work on your...wormhole shit or whatever it is you do in Physics."

"Okay, first off, we do not discuss wormholes. Too often. Only when Gildartz wants to watch  _Interstellar_  in class. Secondly...I did wormhole metrics in first year, we're doing transversibles this year," Sting mumbled. Lucy lifted her head and gave him a small smile. "You...sometimes I forget you're actually some super intelligent Physics Major."

"It's because I'm blond, isn't it?" Sting sighed dramatically as he flopped back on his bed, his feet on the pillows.

"No, it's because you act like a five year old ninety percent of the time," Lucy rolled her pretty brown eyes and continued frowning at the screen. "Go do your English! We're starting _Aeneid_  tomorrow and we have pre-reading work to do."

"Nah, I already read it," he tossed his worn soccer ball up in the air, catching it before it fell on his face. "Light reading when I was a kid. Daddy Skia was head over heels for English lit, it's a wonder Rogue got into biology. I mean, he was the only one who could properly dissect the frog in tenth grade, and his removal of the organs was flawless, so it was  _kind of_  expected, but-"

"What's the deal with that, anyway? Why do you call his dad 'daddy Skia'?"

Sting's movements paused and he kept a carefully blank face as he spoke, "Our mum's left us both when we were four. They were best friends who wanted to continue living like twenty one year olds, so our dad's got saddled with us. They were best friends from high school and eventually we moved into one house and calling the other uncle was weird so...it became daddy Skia and daddy Weiss."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Lucy said softly. "About your mum's. It's amazing you all lived together. Wonderful, actually."

Sting stared at her long and hard. He had heard no pity in her voice, just understanding. When most people found out about his family situation, they treated him like glass, avoiding discussion of family in general. He loathed it. He knew Rogue did, too. Lucy didn't give him a sad look and attempt to rationalize his behaviour as growing up a part of a broken home, she just looked...sympathetic. As if she knew what he was going through.

"So you heard my sob story, what's yours? Half brother with a different name, adopted brother...what's the T?"

"Nothing really special. My mum was dating Ivan Dreyer in a rebellious snit before she met dad, got pregnant, gave birth, Ivan took Laxus away soon after. Mum was stuck in an arranged marriage with dad, Ivan dropped Laxus off at our home when he found out mum was pregnant with me, and then I was born. Mum adopted Erik when he was about...ten, I was nine-ish, Laxus was also ten, and...then, half a year later, mum died and dad was stuck with three kids he didn't want," Lucy said candidly. Sting was certain his jaw was hanging wide open at this point. He didn't want to make her feel awkward when she had been nothing but polite with his story, so he stammered out, "I...sorry. About your mum. And your dad."

"Thank you. I'm...kind of glad dad is distant, the three of us would never be as close as we are if not," Lucy shook her head with a smile, and Sting had to glance away. How was she able to look so happy even after telling a story like that? Sting had to marvel at her happy-go-lucky attitude.

"So what are you working on, you absolute blonde? English?" Sting began suddenly as a way of redirecting the conversation. The atmosphere was too dark.

"Your resume," she replied. At his flabbergasted look, she grinned. "Ichiya's job is a one time fix. 2K isn't gonna last you all year, so a steady income is a must."

"Thanks," his heart fluttered. Sting could hardly remember the last time somebody had looked out for him like this, the last time somebody had gone ahead and made such a vast decision on his behalf for his betterment. He found himself rather...pleased that she was looking out for him. That she thought of him.

"So where are you selling me off to?" he migrated to her bed, flopping down next to her. She shifted the computer screen enough that he could see. "So far, I have McDonald's-"

"Ew, no, grease everywhere. Besides, this face? Not meant for cooking...fries."

"Starbucks-"

"I am not a sixteen year old girl, Lucy."

"Baskin Robbins-"

"Ooh, free ice cream, yes, send one there."

"T.G.I. Friday's -"

"That place is still in business?"

"You can't be so picky, Sting!" Lucy exploded. "Beggars can't be choosers!"

"Where do you work?" he asked. "I'll just apply there."

"The Bard Tavern," she said. "It's a little on-campus café, real sweet place. We are hiring, so..."

He tackled her to the bed. "You're the best-!"

"Bone. Bruise!"

* * *

"Our Father, who art in heaven-" Sting mumbled under his breath as he stood before the bathroom sink and stared into the hazy mirror. He let out an aggravated sigh and dropped his hands from the clasp they had been in, instead focusing his gaze up to the ceiling. "I haven't prayed in years, this is not gonna work, is it? Okay, big man, just...let Lucy do her magic, don't let my dick sleeve fall off, and please, please let this job be quick."

"I've modeled for Ichiya before," Lucy said as she entered the bathroom, waving around the bag from the store. "He does a fairly quick job."

"Your brothers let you model nude?" Sting exclaimed.

"My brothers aren't my keepers," she snapped. "I was short some cash first year for our trip to Crocus, and his work paid well."

"Did they ever find out?"

"No, and they're not going to," the warning in her voice was clear. "Now strip down."

Sting gulped and tugged off his shirt quickly, his jeans following in suit. His fingers stilled at the hemline of his boxers. "You know what? Never mind, just-"

Lucy's fingers caught the ends of his boxers and tugged down before he could finish. Her cheeks were bright red, and she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the cloth on the floor. "There. Done."

"R-right," he stuttered, kicking the material away. She reached into the bag and pulled out the glass tube of foundation and a puffy, flat topped brush. She dabbed a healthy amount of the foundation on the back of her hand and collected it with the brush. The first touch of the soft bristles and cold liquid to his thigh and he jerked.

"Sorry," he mumbled, focusing his gaze on her face. Though bright red, her face was that of deep concentration. Her tongue peeked out of her lips, a little pink bud that contrasted well with her lips. Her hands moved swiftly, rotating and covering the expanse of his skin.

"Do you know what he did with that nude of you, then?" he asked conversationally.

"Uh, it's in his studio somewhere. The first years all have to examine the nudes there to get a better understanding of the human body," she shrugged.

"You're not bothered that a bunch of first years are staring at your body?" Sting wasn't sure he would be one hundred percent okay with it. Sure, he was comfortable with his body, but for a bunch of strangers to be ogling at it? It was...odd to think about.

"I am, kind of, but... _que pouvez-vous faire?_ " Sting had to brace himself on the counter as laughter rolled through his frame. His shoulders shook, and he had to put a fist to his mouth to stifle his mirth. Lucy stared at him with a pout. "What's so funny?"

"Y-your accent! It was t-terrible!" he cackled. Lucy scowled, glaring at him. "Fine, Mr Frenchman, you show me how it's done."

Immediately, Sting smirked. Being of French descent himself, his ability to speak the language was superior to most. His father had taught him with the intent to expose Sting to the culture, but Sting found it worked quite effectively for him when he wooed the ladies. For some reason, the way his voice deepened and his eyes darkened sent them into a frenzy. He bent down, tilting her head up to meet his smoldering gaze. " _Si Dieu a fait quelque chose de plus beau que vous, je suis sûr qu'il garder pour lui-même._ "

The effects were immediate. Her breathing picked up, and, because of his finger placement, he could faintly feel the way her heart stuttered. She licked her lips, and Sting followed the pink muscle's movements, mirroring the action intentionally.

"W-what did you say...? I caught something about God."

He straightened up and shrugged. "It's a line from the French translation of the Bible."

Actually, what he  _had_  said was  _'If God made anything more beautiful than you, I'm sure He'd keep it to Himself'_ , but he wasn't about to let her find that out.

She smacked his thigh. "I cannot believe you tried to flirt with me using Bible verses...you're going to hell."

"I knew that a while ago, I had an orgy in the twelfth grade. Figured that sealed the deal," he almost burst into laughter again at the scandalized look on her face. She was too much fun to tease.

"Done the front," she announced. Sting glanced down to his legs and was surprised to see how smoothly the colours matched. Had he not known about his tan lines, he would have suspected this was his natural skin.

"Damn, Lucy, you do a good job!" he complimented. "You should have gone into special effects or something."

"Anybody can do this, Sting," she rolled her eyes, but looked immensely pleased at the compliment. "It helps when we get zits and we don't want to look like a mess."

"Shit, you're insanely good at this-"

A vicious snarl came from behind him. " _Eucliffe!_ "

Sting barely had time to turn around before Cobra's fist caught his cheek. The blond yelped, falling back onto Lucy, who grunted as she caught him. Cobra's face was that of cold fury. His fist reared again, and Lucy launched her makeup palette at him. "Erik! What the fuck!"

"I should be the one saying that,  _why is he naked in front of you?_ " he roared. Lucy threw another cosmetic at him, this time a wand of mascara. "I'm helping him get ready for his modeling stint with Ichiya! What were you thinking?"

"You were kneeling in front of his naked body and he was saying you were good at something, what was I supposed to think?" he hissed. Sting felt the proverbial ice bucket wash over him. Cobra had thought she was giving him a-

"Blowjob?" Lucy screeched. "You thought I was giving him a blowjob?"

Never had Sting felt more embarrassed in his life. How had he not seen it himself? She had knelt before him, like many women had before, and had been eye level with his crotch, again, as had many women before, and Cobra had walked in to see it. Had Lucy not intervened, he was certain the very pointy objects in the bathroom would have found a new home embedded in his skin and muscles.

Shaking his head, he turned to face the squabbling siblings. Cobra had the decency to look somewhat sheepish as Lucy berated him, smacking him with her brush every so often.

"Er, Lucy...? I think my cheek is bruising..."

"Dammit, Erik! See what you did! Now I have to fix that, too!"

"I'm not apologizing."

"It really, really hurts, you guys..."

* * *

"It's not broken," Wendy prodded his cheek one last time. "Not fractured. It's just a bruise."

"What about a subperio?"

"It's not a bone bruise, Sting, you're fine," Wendy reached for the bottle of foundation and began to apply it to his cheek, rubbing gently. To the side, Sting could see Lucy reading over Mest's essay, scribbling on the margins with red pen. Cobra was looking over her shoulder, pointing at something every so often.

"Done!" the Health Sciences student said cheerfully, wiping her hands with a wet wipe.

"Thanks, Wendy!" Sting smiled, frowning immediately after. "Owww...that hurts..."

"No smiling for you," Mest sighed, staring at the duo marking up his sheet. "I didn't do that badly..."

"You got the laws for the insanity plea and asylum completely mixed up," Lucy muttered. Mest let out a groan and flopped back. "I'm gone for this world...Wendy, I leave my worldly possessions to you."

Wendy sighed. "Why have I put up with you for so long?"

"You love me."

"No, I love your Shiny Charm and Pokemon breeding skills."

* * *

"So if you do die here," Gajeel began, "I get your car, right?"

"You must be mistaken, Gajeel," Rogue said smoothly, "As his best friend, practically his brother,  _I_  get the car."

"You're both assholes, and the car is now going to Wendy," Sting informed them both.

"Welcome, men!" Ichiya's voice boomed as he opened the door. "Your parfum...it called to me!"

"2K, 2K, 2K, do it for the 2K," Sting mumbled under his breath as he walked in, eyeing the podium with trepidation. Ichiya pointed to the old chaise lounge on it. "Lie there! The men will assemble around you. Clothes off!"

Sting stripped down quickly, ignoring Gajeel's whistles, and laid out on the lounge, waiting for further instruction. Ichiya sat on a tall stool, wielding a paintbrush threateningly. "Your head on the arm, one hand behind it, the other on your hips. Lower...lower...lower...good! One leg propped up, the other laid out...excellent! Men! Assemble."

Rogue and Gajeel burst into laughter as the Trimen walked on stage without a stitch of clothing.

The Trimen were the on campus playboys, practically running an underground host club in the arts department. They were the heads of the university's elite fraternity, and were every woman's dream, despite being womanizing perverts. Hibiki Lates was a third year Computer Science Major who, for some reason, constantly sparkled. Ren Akatsuki was a Drama Major who was terribly shy and supposedly engaged to Sherry Blendy, although those were just bathroom rumours. Eve Tilm was a fourth year Criminology Major, and looked perpetually ten.

"Ah, Sting!" Hibiki greeted as he procured a vine of grapes from seemingly nowhere, dangling it in front of his mouth. Eve waved cheerfully as he crouched by Sting's feet, folding his arms on the edge of the seat, and Ren stood by with a fan.

"Today's theme, men...the Greek Gods!" Ichiya pointed to Sting, "A masterpiece bestowed upon us! He...his parfum...it reeks of masculinity! The same the Gods exuded! We must capture his brilliance! And...pose."

Sting lay back in horror, and he could just barely make out Rogue and Gajeel taking pictures.

It was there and then that he realized he really needed new friends.

He spent the better part of two hours staring up at Hibiki's sparkling face. How did it sparkle, he mused. Was it makeup? He had seen fairly glittery tubs of the stuff in Lucy's half of the cupboard in the bathroom, perhaps he used it, too? Was it a trick of the light, perhaps? Maybe it was in his soap, he had seen some oddities in the women's aisle, before, but then that begged the question-did Hibiki shop in the women's aisle? Was that why he always smelt of...roses and other flowers? Why his hair was so shiny and bouncy?

Sting wondered if he should make the switch, too.

* * *

"Men! Thank you for you work!" Ichiya finally said. Sting rose, like Dracula out of his coffin, and stiffly made his way over to his clothes, slipping them on. He wheeled around and was met by Ichiya's cheerful face, and a cheque being waved in the air. "Your two hundred!"

"H-hundred?" Sting stammered. Rogue and Gajeel both made their way over to flank him. "The flyer said two thousand!"

""That must have been a typo, men, we are the arts department. Not much funding. So here, your cheque," Ichiya scooted them out of the room. "Goodbye, men!"

"Sting?" Rogue waved his hands in front of his face. "Are you- _holy shit!_  Gajeel,  _catch him-!_ "

"He actually passed out."

* * *

Professor Mard Geer stared at his students as they filed into the room, though few they were. It appeared some sort of party was going about tonight, and they had opted to go get ready for it. Why this required starting at 8 AM, he did not know.

Sting Eucliffe, surprisingly, was present. He could make out a faint puffiness at his cheek that makeup could not hide, and his eyes were red. The bruise, he knew, was from Cobra. Tempesta had spent a good hour regaling him with the saga of the not-blowjob in the lounge room, from where Mard had made sure to type up a quick reply to Mirajane regarding the incident.

His eyes drifted down to the email she had sent once more.

_I had a word with Hibiki about the incident-Ichiya-san is wiring the remaining $1800 dollars to his account today. Honestly, poor Sting..._

_That was hilarious though! Poor Sting, Cobra looks like he can hit hard! But can you imagine how Lucy felt the whole while? She isn't a stupid girl, she must have known what It looked like...does this mean she did it intentionally?! Oh, she totally ships herself with him! Oh, we need to plot their babies...what colour eyes would they have?_

_Anyway, do you know who paid off my bill, Mard? I feel like this has happened before...oooooooh if it was Elfman, I'll be so mad! He needs to focus on his studies!_

_ANYWAY! I still need to return your coat! I'll be by during your lunch break with it!_

_Love,_

_Mira_

"Lucy!" Sting squealed, "Ichiya-san sent me the remaining $1800!"

"Really?" She exclaimed, pushing her way in front of his screen to see, "No way! That's amazing, Sting!"

"I knew that penny-pinching bastard was cheating me! How you typo a hundred with a thousand? Nobody cheats the great Sting Eucliffe!" He announced proudly. Lucy rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder lightly. "Uh huh. Anyway, you got the job, you start next week. I had a talk with the manager, you're good to go."

"Lucy is the best!" Sting crowed, engulfing her in his arms tightly. She made a noise of protest, struggling in his grasp. "Stinky Sting! I let you use my hot water and you don't even bathe properly-!"

"This is eau de Sting, baby, embrace it!"

"Embrace my foot, you asshole!"

Mard sighed, hitting send, and rising up. "Mr Eucliffe, Miss Heartfilia, please keep your hands to yourself until you make it to your room, I'm certain you would feel more comfortable getting familiar with each other there. Although, if your brothers still have the key, I would suggest a hotel for ease."

"P-Professor!"

"Aw, not you, too, man!"

"Anyways. Hand in your pre-reading work for  _Aeneid_ , I trust you all completed it?"

"Shit, we're handing those in?"

"I told you to do it!"

_Miss Strauss,_

_That was awfully generous of you, I hope you did not have to coerce Mr Lates in a manner that would be deemed unsavoury to most. Mr Eucliffe looked quite elated when he discovered the deposit._

_I believe, genetically, they would have brown eyes as they are dominant. However, if I remember correctly, Jude Heartfilia has blue eyes, meaning the children will most likely bear that colour. I...will not begin to touch your other claim._

_I do not know who paid your bill. If Mr Strauss did, leave him be, he is only trying to help. You should learn to accept help sometimes, Mirajane, you need not bear the burdens of the world on your shoulders-one day it may crush you beneath it._

_There is no need to interrupt both our schedules, meet me at the Café Celadon at 1 PM to return it and have lunch-two birds with one stone._

_Regards,_

_Professor Mard Geer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact this chapter of hit and miss right here was the birthplace of the miramard ship...dare I call it fandom history


	5. Shady Shops and Shiny 'Mons

Trembling thumbs hovered over the touch screen of the black device, hesitant to press the red button that would seal the deal. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck, and sharp white teeth nibbled at a chapped lower lip. Sting had never felt so utterly lost in his life, but he had no other option. Exhaling steadily, he pressed the button and watched with bated breath for the result.

Wendy's Sylveon moved first, attacking with a Moonblast that decimated his poor Hydreigon in one fell swoop.

"No..." Sting whispered in abject horror. "You were the chosen one. Not you. Cerberus, no!"

To his right, Lucy snorted in amusement, somehow also catching the gaming action as her eyes never strayed from the board in front of them. He shot her a betrayed glance, pulling out his cell phone and starting a new text.

**To: Dr Wendy**

_FUCKING CHEATER I CALL REMATCH MEET ME IN THE PIT AND STOP USING YOUR BOYFRIEND'S TEAM DAMMIT FIGHT LIKE A MAN_

**From: Dr Wendy**

_I'll give you ten minutes to collect your wounded pride and come up with a team that actually makes sense. Also, they're MY Pokémon. Mest didn't help with this team. I'm a woman, thank you very much. I'll fight like one._

**From: Dr Wendy**

_AND FOR THE LAST TIME MEST ISN'T MY BOYFRIEND_

"I don't know why you thought using a Hydreigon up against a Sylveon was a smart idea," Lucy said in an undertone. "The Fairy type is super effective against the Dragon type."

"Generation six fucked up everything with the introduction of that stupid type. I hate it so much," he glowered.

"I'm quite fond of it," Lucy smiled.

Sting scoffed. "Of course you are. Let me guess, your favourite is Gardevoir?"

"Granbull, actually," at this, Sting gave her an appraising stare. He had never come across someone who passed up the elegant dual type in favour of the pink pitbull ripoff. Especially a woman, sexist as it sounded.

"Mr Eucliffe," Professor Geer deadpanned from the front of class, "Seeing as you are so eager to learn, care to explain the relevance of propaganda in The Aeneid?"

"Um..." Sting glanced at his notes nervously. His pre-reading work had doodles of himself battling vicious dragons alongside Rogue, and eventually rescuing a pretty blonde princess (who looked strikingly similar to his roommate, though he tried to pass that off as a coincidence) and taking over the kingdom of Edolas with her as his queen. He squinted, trying to extrapolate what little information he could from the epic picture. "It...mirrored a hinge...?"

"Ah, yes, the hinge," Professor Geer raised a delicate eyebrow, "The very one your grades are teetering upon. Perhaps Miss Heartfilia could take over and salvage your dignity for you as she does every time."

"The poem itself was written during the reign of Augustus, so the bravery, charisma, and power of the lead, Aeneas, can be seen as a direct parallel to the leadership of Augustus, further supporting his rule and acting as a propaganda mechanism," Lucy doled out flawlessly. Sting gaped, flicking his gaze between her closed notes, Professor Geer's small smirk, and the innocent smile playing on her sparkly lips. Oh, how he longed to wipe it off with his own-

Sting shook his head violently. Where on Earth were these thoughts coming from? Perhaps he would find a way to slyly ask the psychology major beside him without indicating the origin of the question...

"Excellent, Miss Heartfilia," the dark haired man up front nodded. "Now, more about Augustus-"

"Do you have a pair of black slacks and a white shirt?" Lucy whispered.

"Yeah, why?" he returned back to his game, staring at the screen with narrowed eyes. What was super effective against the Fairy type again...?

"Poison and steel," Lucy answered his thoughts, "You spoke aloud. Anyway, you start work today. Same shift as me and that's what you have to wear."

Exchanging his Blastoise for a Bisharp, Sting nodded, "Cool. Four, right?"

"Till eight, yeah," Lucy smiled and went back to copying down whatever the professor was projecting on the board.

Sting hesitated, then selected a Granbull as well.

* * *

"Her favourite Pokémon is a Granbull," Sting began over lunch. Rogue exchanged a confused glance with Gajeel, who shrugged. "Whose?"

"Lucy's favourite Pokémon is a Granbull," the blond repeated.

"Good for her?" Gajeel's reply was more of a question.

"It's probably because it's pink and a dog-fairy," Sting mused, toying with his chili. He picked out the mushrooms and placed them in a small pile on the edge of his tray. His intense loathing for the fungus stemmed from an incident back when he was eight and decided ingesting the wild mushrooms in his backyard was a wise idea. The two days spent in a hospital bed said otherwise.

"Nothing wrong with liking pink," Rogue immediately responded. "I'm rather fond of Skitty myself."

Gajeel gave his cousin a long, hard stare. "You too?"

"You know what I should do?" Sting continued as if the others hadn't spoken. "I should hatch her a shiny Granbull. It's beige. It'll save her some dignity. Yeah, I'll do that!"

"Sting, you do understand how difficult it is breeding for a shiny, correct?" Rogue fought to keep the grin off his face. Had he been a lesser person, he would have teased his best friend mercilessly for his offhand comment, but he was a mature, respectable adult-

"Sting and Lucy sitting in a tree! F-U-C-K-I-N-G!" Gajeel sang loudly, catching the attention of about half the cafeteria and one very keen looking Mirajane Strauss. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the bastard baby in a carriage!"

"How would the baby be a bastard if it was born in wedlock?" Rogue asked.

"'Cause it would be conceived out of wedlock, duh," Gajeel rolled his red eyes. Rogue winced lightly. "I'm not quite sure that's how it works..."

"I notice you didn't deny it, Sting," Gajeel grinned broadly, staring at the blond. "Sting?"

"Would the chances of a shiny increase with a Ditto and shiny charm...?"

* * *

The Bard Tavern was one of those places students only found when extremely broke and on the hunt for something dirt cheap and vaguely nutritious to dine on.

Located between the campus pharmacy (which many students avoided for fear of bumping into Zancrow) and the washrooms, the innocuous little dine-in wasn't large by any means. Approximately the size of a studio apartment, it still managed to house several neat booths and open tables, and what appeared to be a bar that doubled as the cash register. The walls were a pasty shade of green and the carpet had patterns that Sting hadn't seen since the nineties.

"Isn't it cute?" Lucy giggled, prancing ahead of him to the bar top. Sting stood by the entrance awkwardly, wondering if it was too late to back out now and get a job at Starbucks.

"Sting?"

"Sorry, I'm just wondering what nineties soap opera set I walked into," he replied sarcastically, "I swear, the last time I saw this carpet was at my great-uncle's place up in Jewel, and that man hasn't renovated his house since 1975. I'm pretty sure it's still got asbestos in the insulation."

"I suppose you shall be pleased to note that we had our annual health inspection last week and passed with flying colours," a soft voice spoke from right by Sting's ear. He screeched, propelling forward and whipping around just in time to avoid colliding with the glass top of the table. Lucy had her arms half in the air, ready to catch him, and to her right, an older man raised a pencil thin eyebrow.

"Why?" Sting wheezed. "Why would you do that?"

"Talk?" the man asked innocently. "I believe I was defending my establishment. Is that illegal?"

Sting stared at his new boss incredulously. He was tall, thin, and had greasy black hair that hung down to his shoulders and curled lightly at the ends. Black slacks peeked out from under a thick overcoat that stopped around his knees, and a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck loosely. All in all, he looked like the dictionary definition of mass murderer.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Eucliffe," he tilted his head slightly, staring at him with sharp, gold eyes. "I'm Mr Stilts."

"N-nice to meet you?" Sting shook hands with the man, barely holding back a yelp when his boss's freezing cold hand enclosed his. It felt like he had left the appendage in a vat of liquid nitrogen overnight.

"I will let Lucy show you the ropes. I have other business to attend to."

Sting blinked and the man was gone.

"Well!" Lucy clapped her hands together. "Shall we?"

"Where did he go?" Sting asked, glancing around wildly. "I literally blinked and the guy was gone! There's no way he could've vanished so quickly, I mean, I'm a physics major for fucks sake, you can't break physics if I can't!"

"That's just Mr Stilts," Lucy shrugged it off. "He's like a ninja, you know? Don't question it. Have you ever worked cash before?"

"Once," he responded vaguely. The closest he had ever come to working cash was when he was the bank for their graduating class's betting pool. It was basically the same thing, right? He held onto the cash until it was time to distribute it to the winner. Or, in this case, the customer.

"Great! So we can skip that. What about inventory?"

"Yeah."

Cleaning out the family storage unit definitely counted. There was a list, he cross-checked the items against the list, and made a separate list of unaccounted for shit, which would then go to whoever the hell was in charge.

"Waiting?"

"Nope."

"Oh, okay. Well, it's pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I should probably teach you the menu abbreviations, so let's get started!" Lucy leaned over the counter to grab something, and Sting willed his eyes away from her skirt, which was riding up dangerously. Her bruise was nowhere in sight (though he knew this was entirely due to her prowess with the magic known as foundation) and all that was left was the creamy expanse of her thigh. It should have been illegal to have such perfect legs, he thought absently. He had no doubts that she could probably do that thing that the Black Widow did in the movies where she snapped people's necks with her thighs. He would have no objections if Lucy decided to off him in that manner. It would be a death worth dying if it meant her legs would be wrapped around his face-

"Here we go!" a book larger than two of his thickest physics textbooks combined was thrust into his face, pulling him out of his perverted fantasies. He shook his head, staring at it incredulously. "How many menu items do we have?"

"This isn't just menu abbreviations, silly! It's a list of our policies, too, which I need to run over with you. Oh! I should probably go get our waivers while I'm at it. And the WHMIS stuff-"

Sting had a feeling it would be a very long day indeed.

* * *

Mard frowned deeply, his dark eyes roving over the unconscious form of the white-haired woman on the sofa. His gaze flicked to his wristwatch. The little golden hands indicated that it was around five. Well into her last class of the day, if he remembered correctly.

Mira shivered, drawing her knees up closer to her chest to conserve more heat. The golf shirt and boy short combination did little to protect against the chilly evening air of early October. Mard slipped off his coat, ready to drape it over her once more when he noticed it.

Mira's breaths were laboured and shallow. Her legs were held at an awkward angle from her chest and her arms were placed just close enough that she would be warm, but far enough that there was no real flexion. He hesitated before lifting her shirt just enough that he could see the bottom half of her ribs.

He gritted his teeth as the heavy purple bruising became evident.

Shit. Not again.

He dropped the shirt and placed his hand on her cheek gently. "Mirajane."

She moaned, attempting to turn her face into the pillow. He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone till she cracked an eye open. "Mard…"

"Do you want me to take you to the ER?" it didn't matter if she said no, he would carry her there if need be. Still, he wanted to hear what she would say. It would give him everything he needed to know about this situation in particular.

Her eyes widened and she shot up, gasping in pain as she did so. He followed in suit, hovering his hands around her uselessly. "Mirajane! Do not move, you've at least two broken ribs."

"No, you can't take me. Please, you have to promise," she pleaded. "They'll know."

"Who?"

She turned away. His lips tightened and he prodded her face back to him. "Mira, who is it?"

"Jose."

He was sure his teeth were going to shatter with the force at which he was clenching his jaw. So it was true. It was happening all over again, and just like last time, he couldn't do anything about it.

"Then at least let me help," he would ask the 'why's' later. Right now, his focus was on her recuperation. Ever since she had swept into his mundane life all those years ago his focus had been her well-being.

She nodded and he held out his hand.

He would fix her and then break Jose. One way or another, the man would pay.

* * *

"Oh my god," Lucy mumbled as the door-chime rang. "He's here."

"Mr Stilts?" Sting straightened. The last time the devil had caught him slouching he had implied something along the lines of ramming a rod up his asshole to help his spine stay upright since it seemed incapable of doing so itself, and Sting was not willing to test whether or not the man was just joking because he honestly seemed incapable of doing so.

"No, holy shit, Dan Straight," Lucy's expression turned dreamy. "My soul and my vagina ache for him. Simultaneously."

Sting's stomach churned and he made an exaggerated gagging noise. "He's disgusting. I thought you had standards, dammit."

He totally didn't tell her that the very thought of her having a crush on someone as rancid as Dan fuckin' Straight when  _he_  was right next to her repulsed him. Had he really lost his touch with the ladies? Most of the time all he needed to do was smirk, drop a sleazy line or two in French and sparkle his eyes and they were lining up for dinner with him. He had done all three with his roommate and the only thing he had gotten out of her was a book to the face.

"He's so hot," Lucy groaned. "Like, he's in my abnormal psych class, and he is so perfect at everything he does. You know he got a 22.5 out of 15 on our last quiz? How does that even happen!"

"Cheating," Sting grumbled. He had gotten a perfect 30 out of 30 on their English quiz last week and all she had done was roll her eyes and ask how long he had stayed up to cram in two week's worth of info into his head overnight. What did Dan Straight have on him? He was the most painstakingly average piece of shit to have ever been given a carcass to inhabit.

"Ahh, Lucy-tan!" Dan clasped her hands between his. "I am graced with your beauty! Alas, it is not enough to keep me awake from a long night of studying, thought it is certainly a welcome surprise. I need a frappucino, please."

"Yeah, sure. Hey, Sting, could you get that for me?" Lucy asked distractedly. "Dan, did you understand last night's reading? I got confused around chapter ten…"

"'Enough to keep me awake after a long night of studying'," Sting pitched his voice in an undertone. His hands mechanically worked their way through the quick process of making a frap. "My ass, he was probably jerking it to your face…"

That made him cringe. God, if Dan Straight ever wanked off to Lucy Heartfilia, her brothers would be the least of his concern. No, Sting would be at the front of the line of people seeking his head on a pike.

"I have a test today," Dan sighed. "Can't have too much caffeine, otherwise I get jumpy…"

Lucy perked up. "I know exactly what you mean! I can't have too much before a test, either-"

Now that was a blatant lie. Sting knew that test days meant a triple shot espresso in her passion explosion lemon tea. As disgusting as the combination had sounded at first, he had warmed up to it after his own hellish test-day cocktail supplies had run out (his preferred poison being six Five Hour Energy Shots and two cans of Red Bull with a healthy dash of coke to keep it fizzy). The blond eyed the cup in his hand and the espresso machine beside it.

Oh, he could hear his religion teachers rolling in their graves. Fuck morals and ethics. This would be so illegal and unprofessional but so much fun. Quickly, he shot out four pumps of espresso into the frap, mixing it in and popping the lid on.

"One frap," Sting announced, sliding the cup over the counter. "Enjoy."

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Wendy squeaked, dropping her Q-tip on the counter and whipping around to meet her best friend's gaze guiltily. "Um…scratching the back of my throat?"

Mest raised an eyebrow. "With a Q-tip from a DNA package? You're awful at lying. So, I'll ask again. What're you doing?"

Wendy sighed, grabbing the kit off the counter and staring at the double-helix on the front. The words 'DNA TREE' stood out in bright green letters. She traced the words absently as she replied. "Grandeeney finally called back."

She saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye. "And?"

"I was right," she said. Mest was by her side and crushing her to his chest in seconds. "Fuck. Wendy, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she said bitterly. It was such a new feeling for her, the bitterness. Normally she was as forgiving and loving as it got, but now? Now she wanted to hunt down her birth parents and scream at them, pound on their chests till they hurt as badly as she was now and then some. "Grandeeney told me we'd talk more when she came up over the weekend, but…I called Metalicana after. He told me more."

"Go on," Mest prodded softly.

"My birth dad was a gang leader and my mum was one of his whores. Nobody knows what happened to her. He left me in the neonatal unit of the hospital for Grandeeney to find with enough cash on me to renovate a room."

Wendy felt Mest clench and unclench his hands, a nervous habit of his. He didn't know what to say to comfort her, and Wendy wasn't quite sure anything he could say would ever be able to make her feel better. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. "Why didn't they want me?"

"Because they're fucking idiots," Mest snapped. "Because…because you deserved better and maybe your shithead birth dad realized that in a moment of sobriety. You've done so much with your life and you don't need them. I don't even know why you want to find them-"

"So I can ask why," she said. "I just…I need some closure."

Mest dropped his arms and Wendy's heart went with them. Was he going to abandon her when-

The Q-tip was brought back up to her lips and Mest's dark green eyes met her hazel ones. "If I'm gonna be your support pillar during this I may as well start by making sure we collect the saliva properly."

Wendy couldn't hold back the wave of tears this time as she nodded sharply.

* * *

"A date!" Sting ranted. "Can you believe it? She has a date with him!"

Midnight proceeded to ignore his seat mate in favour of staring straight ahead at the projection that Gildartz was working his way through.

"Jesus, what possessed her to think that going out on a date with Dan Straight was ever a good idea? He's such a creep! He's totally the kind of guy to drug her and then drag her home and go all serial killer on her, like, I'm talking he'll turn her into a marionette to add to his collection kind of serial killer. You know what? I should totally follow her on this date. Just to make sure he doesn't try shit. Do you think that I should get Rogue, too? And Gajeel. Yeah, Gajeel is a good idea. Should I tell Laxus and Cobra?"

Midnight grunted.

"No, you're right. No need to tell them, they're nowhere near the kind of level of ninja-silence that we need. God, I love talking to you about my problems, you're so good at listening!"

Midnight grunted again.

"See? Look, you're not afraid to take a compli-are you sleeping? Hello? I-yup, you're sleeping, haven't heard a damn word I've said. Motherfucker."

* * *

Sting had had exactly two female best friends growing up: Yukino Aguria and Minerva Orlando.

Yukino was the embodiment of all things holy and pure, put into one corporeal being and sent to grace their rowdy street with her presence. Minerva, on the other hand, was Satan incarnate. Brash, cold, and with a malicious streak a mile wide, it was a miracle that she had ever opened up enough to befriend him. Despite their differences, if there was one thing that Yukino and Minerva loved doing, it was putting together outfits. It didn't matter that Yukino preferred summer dresses and skirts and tank tops while Minerva leaned more towards leggings and airy shirts, the two were the absolute masters of whipping together a cute ensemble for both themselves and each other.

It seemed that this trait was universal, because Friday evening found Sting on his bed, ignoring his physics in favour of observing his roommate dig through her half of the closet for her date outfit.

"Are tights too informal?" she called. Sting twitched. The last time Lucy had worn tights, he had found his gaze drifting to her legs almost the whole day. Her time in the weight room with him had certainly paid off. A flash of heat consumed his chest. Sting knew he was dignified in the sense that though he certainly stared, he never made any advances upon her. Dan, however, was a known pervert with wandering hands. If Lucy wore those tights...

"Yeah, way too informal," Sting responded. He wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm running out of options here!"

"Where are you going out, anyway?" the physics major asked casually. He would help her pick out her attire for the evening and also know exactly where to find her for his secret duty as the chaperone. Two birds with one stone.

"Belle Nuit? I think? It's some French place," Sting's jaw dropped. Okay, it was confirmed. Dan Straight was clearly a member of the mafia because there was absolutely no way a university student could ever come close to affording the price of one simple meal there. Rogue had once dragged him along to check it out ("You can work your French magic and get us a reservation.") and one look at the mobile menu price for the entree had the twins turning tail for the nearest McDonald's. Sting swore one full-course dinner there would be about the same price as his calculus and chemistry textbooks combined.

"Dress fancy," he advised weakly. He hated Dan, but he would hate it more if Lucy was under dressed for a high-class place like Belle Nuit. Great, now how was he supposed to sneak in to observe them...? Scratch that, his bigger problem was his competition. Dan had literally taken the bar and launched it into the troposphere with this lavish date idea. How was he supposed to beat that?

Sting shook his head. Since when had he started seeing Dan as romantic competition? Since when had he started seeing Lucy as a potential partner? Ugh, that was weird. They were just friends. The only reason Sting was so concerned was because he knew that Dan had tried some shit with Gray's on-and-off girlfriend, Sorano, a while back that had not ended nicely - for Dan, anyway. Sorano had walked away with barely a hair out of place.

"Okay! What do you think?"

"I'm sure it looks-" the words died in his mouth as she stepped into plain view.

Lucy was stunning. The dark purple dress fit her just right, accentuating her endless curves. Black lace covered the length of only one arm, leaving the other bare. His eyes followed her as she turned, and he swallowed thickly when he saw the back. The exposed arm had a low dip in the back, showing off her delicate shoulder blades, and Sting bit back the sudden urge to sink his teeth into the bony prominence, just to hear her gasp aloud.

"...amazing..." he breathed. There weren't enough words in both of his spoken languages to express how gorgeous she looked. His roommate blushed deeply. "Thanks. I bought this a while back. Guess it's time to put it to good use, eh?"

"Hell yeah," he mumbled. Was it him or had the room gotten smaller?

A sudden ping went off on both their phones. Lucy smiled. "That's Dan! I should finish getting ready. Thanks so much, Sting!"

But he was too absorbed in the alarmingly cryptic message his new boss had just sent him.

_"Meet at the Tavern storage in twenty minutes. Come alone."_

* * *

Mard pressed another cooling pack to Mira's ribs, wincing slightly as she moaned.

He hated being this helpless.

"I cannot give you any more pain medication," he said quietly. "We will have to wait several hours. I apologize."

"Don't," she squeezed the hand holding the ice as firmly as she could manage. "It's not your fault."

Mard sighed, switching the ice back to its other side and shifting it higher. Mira had refused to go to her tiny apartment for fear of alerting Lisanna and Elfman of her predicament, so he had helped her to his tiny domicile on the opposite end of the city. He couldn't help but notice how small she looked in his massive bed. How out of place she was huddled alone in his black sheets, with her white hair spilling over the cushions. He absently brushed the strands back. It wasn't an unwelcome sight by any means, just...unconventional.

"Why are you doing this again? I told you if you needed money-"

"I can look after my own family," she whispered. "It's my job."

His free hand clenched. "You will end up killing yourself pursuing this. Jose is not a man to be trifled with."

She chuckled wryly and pulled his hand back to rest near the lumbar region of her back. He ignored how soft her skin was to touch and helped her roll to her stomach so he could look where she was pointing.

"I know he isn't."

The purplish black bruises (fists, he'd know that mark anywhere) faded to red in his vision. He had heard rumours, back when he was in the underground scene, that Jose Porla made it a habit to break in his newer fighters by beating them after their first match. It was to instill fear (something his own master – God, he hated that word and all it embodied – had tried and failed to do with him) and prove that no matter how powerful the fighter was, that the master would always prevail.

But Mira wasn't a new fighter, and this certainly wasn't her first time in the ring under his control.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say in that moment ( _I'll kill him, you shouldn't be doing this, just listen to me for once in your life and stop. Please stop_ ), but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, so he moved the ice-pack to her bruised back and continued to count down the minutes until he could give her another pill for the pain.

* * *

There were exactly three things in the world that could keep Sting from devolving into a jittery mess when anticipating something: reciting physics laws, bothering Rogue, and playing Pokemon.

Since he was too tense to actually remember what the Law of Inertia was (something about equal and opposite forces? Or was that the Law of Reaction…?), and Rogue's phone was off, Sting was left to try and continue breeding for a shiny Snubbull. He had debated just asking for one on GTS, but the chances of him being double-crossed by the shithead eleven-year-olds were too high for him to even bother.

So he sat on a crate in the storage room of The Bard Tavern with his 3DS in hand, hatching his ninety-fifth egg of the night.

There were likely two reasons as to his summons: he was getting fired, or he was the target of a mob hit. If it were a mob hit, then it was probably because he had loaded up Dan Straight's frap with an unholy amount of espresso and he had decided to exact his revenge upon him, in which case, Sting would accept his death with grace, knowing that he had probably caused Mister Perfect to fail whatever the fuck he was trying to pass that day.

"Mr Eucliffe," Sting dropped his 3DS. "You're early."

The blond chose to remain silent and simply nodded. Mr Stilts was dressed as usual, but for some godforsaken reason, he was wearing sunglasses. It was close to eight PM and the man was wearing sunglasses.

This was totally a mob hit.

"I need you to do me a favour, Mr Eucliffe," his boss produced a thick envelope from his breast-pocket and held it out. "You have a reservation at Belle Nuit in fifteen minutes under the name Porla. You will be approached by a man named Aria, and you are to give this envelope to him and tell him to tell his boss that this is half the down payment on Sitri. If she prevails in her next round, he will receive the second half plus a bonus. After that, you'll forget this ever happened and business will go about as usual."

About three things Sting was absolutely positive. First, he was going to be able to go through with his observation of Lucy's date. Second, he was going to observe Lucy – and he knew full well how creepy that was beginning to sound - while also performing what was undeniably a mob transaction. And third, he was going to exsanguinate Rogue for ever forcing him to watch the Twilight Saga as punishment for failing his world history test in the tenth grade.

* * *

"She's covering her mouth, Rogue," Sting hissed into the phone. "Who the fuck covers their mouth and laughs outside of those bimbos from prime-time TV?"

"People who don't like their teeth, people who are eating and laughing, people who obey basic rules of outside dining…" his best friend listed off. In the background, Sting could hear Cana and Bacchus burst into another fit of giggles. Stupid drunks. He didn't know why Rogue was even bothering to tutor them in anatomy (nobody knew what Cana's major was, and Bacchus in the business line, what did he need anatomy for?) when they were clearly wasting his precious time. At least he was getting paid.

Sting merely grumbled and ducked down lower so he could only barely begin to peek over the top of the menu. He pretended to peruse the items ( _why the fuck did garlic bread cost twenty dollars a basket_ ) while keeping an eye on his roommate and her pathetic excuse of a date.

Dan Straight was wearing a tuxedo. A fucking tuxedo. Sting already felt underdressed in his white shirt and black slacks combo, but Dan just went and showed up the entire restaurant. Lucy had seemed somewhat tense upon their entrance, and Sting assumed it had a lot to do with how extra Dan was being. He had done everything straight out of the movies, starting with paving a path to their table with rose petals, and reciting Shakespeare (incorrectly, mind you) as they sat down and awaited their dinner.

"Sonnet 18 is so fucking cliché," he grumbled. "And it's not even summer! What the hell!"

Okay, that was just him being petty, but he was well within his rights, dammit! Sonnet 18 was cheesy as fuck and just about every fuckboy past grade ten had used it at one point or another. Sting, of course, had had much more class than the others-he had recited it in French when promposing to Meredy back in senior year.

"Winter brings so much sorrow..."

Sting dropped his phone. He could distantly hear Rogue asking if he was okay, but his attention was directed to the behemoth of a man who seated himself across from him.

He was wearing a visor. Sting didn't know if this was a mob thing, wearing impractical headgear and the like, but given his two interactions with mob-like people, it was safe to assume that wearing sunglasses and visors at night was to mobsters what snapbacks were to teens. His clothing was appropriate for the atmosphere, but it was still a startling shade of green.

"Um...you are...?"

"Aria."

Sting immediately thrust the envelope in his face, dropping it like it was a hot coal. The sooner it was out of his hands the better. "There. Mr Stilts told me to tell you to tell Jose that this was half the payment, and that the other half plus a bonus would come if Sitri won round two. That was a lot of telling."

Aria opened the envelope and Sting's jaw dropped. There were at least fifty one-hundred dollar bills in there. Two years worth of tuition, almost. Just who was Sitri, and why was she worth so much? Dread filled his veins. This was illegal. Very, very illegal, because if it were a simple transfer of money, Stilts could have done it with the bank. Tangible money meant trouble.

What had Sting gotten himself into?

"Excellent. Mr Porla invites you to have a meal on him," Aria said. Sting slapped the menu shut and shook his head. "No, thank you."

He would not be caught in a position of owing these freaks anything.

Aria shrugged. "It is upsetting that you cannot eat tonight. I must depart immediately. I look forward to meeting you soon."

"Yeah, sure," Sting waved, mumbling a quick 'in hell' under his breath. He lifted the phone to his ear, and was pleased to note that Rogue had yet to hang up on him.

"What the fuck, Sting?" Rogue snapped.

"There were hundred dollar bills in there," he hissed. "Betting on Sitri? Cold cash? Dude, I just did a mob thing!"

"Shit."

"I know! I'm handing in my letter of resignation tomorrow-wait, where's Lucy?" Sting whipped his head left and right, checking every entrance and exit point for her. Her table was in the process of being cleaned up by the wait staff. Sting cursed softly, scrambling out of his seat and striding for the nearest exit.

"Rogue, draft my resignation letter, please. And also have a drink ready for me when I get back, I'm not getting through this bullshit sober."

* * *

**To: Mob Boss**

_Ayyy wassup bro. You seen your sister lately?_

**From: Mob Boss**

_Not since she left for dinner with her friend, why._

**To: Mob Boss**

_Eh, no reason. She just isn't answering her phone and I need to know her laptop password so I can jack her notes._

**From: Mob Boss**

_She's probably ignoring you because she knows you're gonna pull stupid shit like this._

**To: Mob Boss**

_I resent that_

* * *

**To: Rotmouth**

_Ayyy wassup bro. You seen your sister lately?_

**From: Rotmouth**

_What the fuck did you do_

**To: Rotmouth**

_NOTHING I SWEAR I JUST NEED HER TO ANSWER HER PHONE SO I CAN GET HER LAPTOP PASSWORD FOR HER NOTES_

**From: Rotmouth**

_Why isn't she answering her phone_

**To: Rotmouth**

_Um she's on a date_

**From: Rotmouth**

_WHAT_

**From: Rotmouth**

_WHO_

**From: Rotmouth**

_EUCLIFFE YOU BETTER START FUCKING TALKING_

* * *

**To: MACbeth**

_Heyyy Midnight, your bestie is about to pop a vein in his head cause I kind of maybe sort of low-key let it slip that Lucy was on a date please distract him till I find her and warn her_

**From: MACbeth**

_She's by the fountain on the North end of campus, two minutes from where you are._

**To: MACbeth**

_Oooh I forgot you had that Heartfilia-tracker thing lmao_

**To: MACbeth**

_...how did you know where I was_

**To: MACbeth**

_...Midnight...?_

* * *

By the time Sting had made it to the fountain, he had turned his phone off.

Cobra was calling him non-stop, Laxus had literally caused his phone to freeze because of the number of rapid-fire texts he had yet to stop sending, and Rogue and Gajeel weren't helping matters by adding to the barrage of messages.

So when he saw Lucy on the rim of the fountain, her feet dangling in the water, he was grateful for the brief moment of silence he had invoked.

"I take it the date didn't go so well?" he asked as he joined her. Lucy nodded, sighing. "It seemed so...perfect, you know? A nice restaurant, good conversation, he was...overly expressive in his desires, I mean he quoted Shakespeare, for chrissake, and incorrectly, too, but...it just felt wrong. He was so...fake."

Sting bit back a smug grin. He had told her that Dan wasn't worth it.

"And the final straw came in the form of Lyzia Erlest," the name dripped off her tongue like venom. He vaguely recalled Lyzia as a major party girl in the child and youth care route.

"What'd she do, steal your food?"

"More like steal my date," she snorted. "Apparently, they're dating. I was the side-hoe and I didn't even know it."

Sting scooped a handful of water and threw it at her face. She gaped at him. "Sting! What the hell, you're lucky this is water-proof-!"

"You're not a side-hoe," he said. "You're Lucy. The real hoe is Dan Straight. Listen, I'm sorry your date went to hell, but it's probably for the better. Can you imagine having to date somebody like Dan? You'd die. He's oppressive and weird and you're independent and weird, and...he doesn't deserve you."

Sting wasn't sure when he had become a waxing poetic, but he was certain that it was a combination of Professor Geer's class and Lucy's constant rants in regards to poems in literary works that had had a significant influence on him. He watched as Lucy's cheeks pinked, his own following in suit. She looked almost...cute.

Probably the lighting.

"Thanks, Sting," she bumped shoulders with him. He cleared his throat, procuring his 3DS from his back pocket. "Wanna help me hatch some eggs?"

Lucy nodded, taking the console from his hands and maneuvering the track pad so his character biked faster. He alternated between watching her expression of concentration and the game screen, though he would be lying if he said his gaze had favoured her face less.

"Oh! It's hatching!"

"Probably another breeject. If it's not a shiny, release-"

"It's a shiny Snubbull!" Lucy squealed. "Oh, it's so cute! And 6IV, too!"

Sting swore his soul had ascended in that moment. He shoved his face next to hers, gawking at the little dancing pug. "What the fuck?! I've been trying this for days, how did you-?!"

"Everything I touch turns to gold," she grinned in satisfaction. "Guess this is no exception."

"That's it," Sting declared, latching onto her tightly. "You're my new lucky charm."

"Sting! Let go!"

"Never!"

"Come on!"

"You gotta follow me to every last one of my classes, now."

"Ew, physics!"

"What do you mean 'ew', you inept blonde?"

* * *

Dan Straight was not having a good day.

First, his date with Lucy had been crashed by his off-girlfriend, who had decided there and then to put them in the permanent 'off'-zone. Second, he had been knocked out on his way to finding and apologizing to Lucy, and had woken up in the chemistry lab, restrained to a chair. Finally...

Well, he was sure of one thing, and that was that he was definitely not leaving the room unharmed.

Cobra grinned, repeatedly tapping the wicked-looking burrette to his palm. Beside him, Laxus cracked his knuckles in a bored fashion, though his eyes read death.

Midnight was asleep by the door.

"You played with our sister's heart," Cobra began.

"And broke it in the process," Laxus continued.

"For this, you die," they finished together.

By the door, Midnight cracked an eye open and snorted.

"You're fucked."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I should note here. wendy and mest in this fic are best friends. the bestest of all friends. nothing more here than platonic love. that is It.


	6. Special: Halloween

"Jesus fuck," Gajeel muttered. "Those goddamn clowns made their way up to OTC."

"Wait, really?" Rogue looked up from his pile of textbooks. His bloodshot eyes were wide in what was either surprise, or adderall-induced-wakefulness. With midterm season underway, not one soul on campus could be found without their head buried in a book of some sort. Those who couldn't read their own writing turned to YouTube for help; Sting was amongst the latter, to nobody's surprise. His notes were constantly punctuated with inane doodles - physics diagrams with curves were turned into waterparks, and those with spikes formed the aftermath of a vicious Pokemon battle.

"Yeah. Apparently a couple of 'em followed some chicks across campus. What're their names...Chelia Blendy and her sister, Sherria. Jesus, their parents had shit naming taste."

"Did they do anything?"

"Eh, they just followed at a distance, but I heard that UMag had clowns with knives," Gajeel said. Rogue frowned minutely. "They're moving closer to the capital."

"Yeah, we could be next." Gajeel turned from his phone to Sting, who was staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face. Rogue's already pale face went from alabaster to porcelain as he made quick slicing motions over his throat, staring at his cousin with clearly panicked eyes. Gajeel lifted a textbook up to his face as a makeshift divider. "What?"

"Sting's scared of clowns."

"Are you serious?"

"He punched one during the Halloween Haunted House at our middle school. Sister Ann threw a fit."

"Wait, they let you have Halloween shit in Catholic school?"

"They believed it would encourage us to fight against sin-"

As Rogue launched into the many reasons the batshit crazy nuns of their middle school allowed for Halloween events, Sting was stuck in a daze.

Sting Eucliffe was proud to say that not many things ever really scared him. Spiders? Sure, they were creepy and you could never tell if they were venomous or not, plus they exploded into a billion babies. That vine had given him nightmares. Snakes? They were cute, but to this day he couldn't remember if it was king or coral snakes that would kill you, so he was rightfully wary. Beyond that, he had the regular fears: midterms, failure, dying a virgin (although technically Flare Corona had helped him deal with that one in junior year), losing his abs, and his friends dying in horrific ways. Everybody was scared of those things.

But clowns? Clowns rattled him to the core.

Clowns were a fucking abomination and anyone who said otherwise was snorting the good stuff. Sting didn't understand why people  _weren't_ scared of them. Clowns were no different than Ghostface; they both hid their faces behind creepy white material that got splattered with red, wore baggy clothing, and had fake voices. They also chased little children around, but apparently it was only immoral if Ghostface did it. Granted, Ghostface was attempting murder, but that was the thing, he was upfront about it. You would never know if a clown was trying to do its clown-ly thing, or if it was just staking out kids to kill.

Which brought Sting to his next qualm; who decided that letting full-grown adults in disguise in close contact with children was a bright-ass idea? In his opinion, it was the making for headlines: PARENTS ALLOW DISGUISED MAN TO PLAY WITH CHILDREN FOR HOURS, SURPRISED WHEN HE TURNS OUT TO BE A PSYCHO KILLER. Which was honestly not far off from the headlines regarding the clown frenzy, so he felt somewhat vindicated in knowing that he was right all along and that clowns were evil.

But then again, if the headlines were right, then that meant that the killer clowns were real, and that they were getting close.

"I'm not scared of any clowns," Sting said proudly. "I dare a goddamn clown to get close. They'll be catching these hands."

"Sting, you cried when dad tried to put you on Ronald McDonald's lap. We have it on video."

"You swore you would never tell."

* * *

"Why are people scared of clowns?" Sting asked suddenly.

Lucy paused in her fifth rep of EZ bar curls, holding the forty pound weight under her chin thoughtfully. "Well," she began in an out-of-breath sort of way. "There's a lot of psychological reasoning behind it. Some simpler -  _Jesus_  - explanations include being scared by an unfamiliar face early on, which leads to the development of a phobia -  _nng_  - the fact that they're always smiling is also -  _hah_ \- unnatural to us because it's so constant no matter what the situation that it makes us uneasy, and...sorry, where was I?"

Sting took the bar out of her hands and placed it so that the concave middle portion cupped his neck and rested against his shoulders easily. "Scary smiles."

"Thank you," Lucy said. She picked up the squirt bottle by her feet and took a quick swig, splashing some over her face and back. Sting wrinkled his nose as the water fell to the floor. That would only get the gym smelling worse than it already did. Not to mention the cold water would probably give the blonde a cold, and he would have to deal with that.

"Right, so I could get more into the specifics, classical conditioning and cognitive dissonance and the uncanny valley effect, but I'm sure that'd bore you to death."

"You know me so well."

"Uh-huh. What brought this on?"

Sting shifted uncomfortably. The weight on his back was starting to dig into his neck a little too hard. "Um...you know, those killer clowns are making their way up, and twitter and vine are blowing up with videos...everybody's just getting hella scared, you know?"

Lucy smiled wryly and braced her elbows on the padded section of her seat, resting her chin atop her joined hands. "And you're sure this has absolutely nothing to do with your own coulrophobia, Stingy-bee?"

"He did not." Dread hit him so powerfully that his grasp on the EZ bar slackened and it met the floor with a loud crash. Across the room, one of the older gym buffs shot him an affronted look.

"Rogue is  _such_  a darling. I had no idea you were so scared of Ronald McDonald!"

"It's not fratricide if we're not actually brothers, right?"

* * *

Mard blinked at the absolute chaos that was his private office. His meticulous piles of papers to grade were stacked up against a wall instead of on his desk. Said desk was cluttered with fabric swatches of every cool colour under the sun, and buckets upon buckets of threads and trims sat atop those. His floor was essentially carpeted with what was likely scratchy wool to catch whatever further mess was to come.

At the epicenter of it all was one Mirajane Strauss, seated cross-legged on the makeshift carpet in front of his desk, stitching together two pieces of dark red cloth.

"Miss Strauss," he began. Mira's head snapped up, and her blue eyes began twinkling with mischief immediately. If he had to put a term to his current state of self…

Foreboding, he decided. That was definitely it.

"Mard! Hi! Sorry, I decided to repurpose your office since my house has been taken over by Elfman's friends. I hope you don't mind; I kept your papers in order."

"It is fine. I must ask, however, what exactly it is that you are doing." Mard gingerly sidestepped what were likely the drafts for her costume and moved to his desk. His seat had a mannequin head on it with drying elf-ears attached firmly to it. He didn't bother to place it elsewhere, opting to go and settle down by his paper stack.

"Designing my Halloween costume!" she chirped. "I was thinking I would go as the devil this year. Have you thought up your costume yet?"

"I was recently informed by Mr Cheney that Eucliffe has intense coulrophobia and was debating whether or not dressing up as a clown would be worth the damage to my image," he answered as he picked up the first of many stapled packages. Already he could spot several mistakes with the title page. Really, was it so hard to adhere to APA standards?

Mira laughed. "Oh, that would be hilarious. You should dress up as Pennywise! I would love to see you in colours other than black and white."

"I am known to wear green and purple when my black and white attire is in the wash," he replied dryly. Mira laughed once more before the duo fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional hum on her end, and the frequent scratching of a pen from his.

Mard braved a quick glance up when he was sure she was too immersed in her work to notice. She had dressed aptly for the rapidly cooling weather; a sweater dress with black leggings, and an puffy scarf to top the look. To anyone else she would have come off as the very essence of fall tranquility.

He knew better. He could see how she took smaller, more shallow breaths, and winced ever-so-slightly when she reached over for something. The way she held herself as still as possible to avoid unnecessary and painful movement. Two weeks had passed and although much of the deep bruising had faded to yellow, she was still in pain.

"Are you alright?" her concerned voice broke his train of thought. "You look like you're about to snap your pen."

He relaxed his grip immediately. "I am fine. Just wondering how long it will take to finish marking this pile of drivel. It's like reading drunken ramblings, to be honest, and I myself am nowhere near inebriated enough to begin to decipher it."

Mira rolled her eyes and went back to her stitching. Mard went back to staring at the papers. The words refused to register in his mind, so he settled for tapping his pen against the page as if he were in deep thought. It didn't matter if he did or didn't, really, because Mira had always had a knack for knowing when he was lying. She knew what was on his mind. He knew she knew. Neither would acknowledge it, and Mard had to wonder if it was for the best.

_For now,_ he thought to himself.  _Just for now._

* * *

Wendy was determined that she would win 'most terrifying costume' this year.

"You should go as ghost girl from episode 10 of Generations," Mest suggested from his spot on the sofa.

"No, that's too...childish," Wendy said.

"Childish?" Mest said, "Childish? Dude, episode 10 was like...it was like they took all the deleted scenes from The Ring and The Grudge and smooshed it together for like ten seconds worth of nightmare fuel. I'm planning on going as ghost girl. I even ordered the wig, see?"

He held out his phone and Wendy raised a brow at the total price listed below. "You seriously spent that much on a wig? I mean...you could get the same quality material at the dollarstore."

"It takes away from the authenticity of the university Halloween experience. I need to spend money I  _don't_ have to make an ugly, yet relatable, costume, which I will end up trashing by the end of the night. See how this works?"

"Not really," Wendy deadpanned. "Hm...how does Samara Morgan sound?"

"Grudge girl?"

"No, Ring girl."

"Eh, just go as ghost girl. We can be ghost girl twins."

"No. What about ghostface?"

"Ghostface sounds a lot like ghost girl. You should go as ghost girl."

* * *

"In the spirit of Halloween, we're gonna be doing Halloween themed shit!" Gildartz announced, throwing his arms out. The laptop on the podium wobbled and he scrambled to right it, only to accidentally hit 'update now' on the little pop up in the corner. "No!" he shrieked. "No, I can't upgrade to Windows 10! No!"

"Are you going to the campus party?" Sting asked Midnight. "Or is there another shindig I should be aware of?"

"Who goes to the campus parties besides freshers? Apparently Bacchus Groh is throwing a party off-campus," Midnight said. Sting unlocked his phone and searched up Bacchus's number. It was probably one of those 'doors open' parties, but he figured it would be polite to ask anyway.

**To:** jaegermeister

_Open invite to the party?_

**From:** jaegermeister

_Fuckin obvs booze is freerun_

If he had not been in class, Sting would have cheered. Because he was in class, he settled for a quiet victory screech and turned to Midnight. "Free booze!"

"Obviously."

"So what are you going as for Halloween?"

"The String Theory. Or Schrodinger's cat." A cruel smirk pulled at his shiny purple lips. "Or perhaps a clown, just to get my rocks off."

Sting twitched. "That bastard told you, too?"

"He told everyone. I guess the campus theme this year is circus."

* * *

"Okay, opinion time." Sting stepped out of the bathroom holding two tank-tops on hangers. "Which one screams basic white boy more?"

"Left one." the blond glanced down and pouted. "Come on, Lucy, this is so...ugh. What's wrong with 'I flexed and the sleeves fell off'?"

"There's degrees to being basic and that one is basic to the negative degrees. Besides, you asked for my opinion," Lucy said from her spot on the bed. Her behavioural psychology textbook lay open to a page full of graphs, and while Sting loved numbers and charts of all kinds, those looked...boring, for lack of a better word. The entire subject was boring, but he had to admit that his roommate had a knack for making it seem somewhat interesting when she read her notes out-loud.

"It's a shitty opinion. I'm going with sleeves," Sting said. He tossed the other shirt on The Chair, and placed his selected top on top of his gym bag. "Shorts next! Wait, what are you going as? We should coordinate. Be a basic white girl."

"Can't. I'm going as Harley Quinn." Lucy shot Sting a sly glance.

Sting pressed his back against the wall in hopes of steadying his shaky legs. He was certain his face was either a fetching shade of green, or a lovely off white. Why was his roommate so evil? Rogue he understood, because Rogue was Satan incarnate and enjoyed seeing him suffer (there was a German word for this...schadenfood?), but Lucy? Lucy was supposed to be all things nice and sweet and not-evil. She was going to be a psychologist one day, how could she fuck with his mind like this and go on to work with people? Beyond that, she was his  _roommate_. There had to be laws against this.

"Whatever happened to the blonde code, you evil clown?" he hissed. "You are supposed to have my back as a fellow blonde. You are my roommate. I trusted you. I let you do my laundry with your filthy, filthy clown-y hands."

"But Harley's not a clown, Sting."

"Harley Quinn totally is a fucking clown. Joker's a clown, and Harley works with Joker and dresses like a clown and...wait, wasn't she also a psychologist before she went evil? Oh, god, there are parallels. I can't trust you anymore. Stay away from my underwear."

"Oh, the tragedy. I can never touch your tighty-whities again. However will I go on in my life."

* * *

"Is it really wise of them to have a humans versus zombies night on Halloween?" Gajeel asked. "Looks like a recipe for a lawsuit in the making to me."

"Do you even know what a lawsuit is?" Rogue inquired as he sat down opposite to his cousin. Gajeel looked up from the flyer. "Yeah, that's the thing when you sue people. Happens on those judge shows all the time."

Rogue opened his mouth and closed it in rapid succession. Was there really a point in trying to correct Gajeel's statement? His cousin had a tendency to dumb everything down to its simplest form, and though that was great for memorization, it made him look like an idiot when he started talking 'memo-talk' out loud. Sighing, Rogue turned to his lunch. There was no point in trying to go into the finer points of law when there was turkey foccacia to be consumed.

"Please tell me none of you are going as clowns," Sting mumbled. "Please."

"Already bought my costume," Gajeel said proudly. Sting smooshed a french fry in his hair. "Bad. Evil. Even Lucy is going as a clown…"

"She's going as Harley Quinn."

"Who is a clown and an ex-psychologist. Lucy is dressing up as a clown and is going to be a psychologist. I'm basically sleeping next to a sociopath."

"That's not what a sociopath is."

"Psychopath, then."

"Still not the right word."

"Crazy future murderer. Happy? Can this get any worse?"

Rogue and Gajeel exchanged amused looks. "Any reason why Lucy dressing up as a clown is messing with you so badly? I mean, everyone else is."

"Because," Sting complained. "She's my roommate. I trusted her not to fuck with me. This is like...the ultimate betrayal. Like...I trusted her with my undies, and she trusted me to kill spiders. I thought we had a bond. Especially after the shower spider."

Gajeel's studded brows flew up. "Shower spider?"

Sting popped a fry in his mouth. "Yeah, she was showering and she started screaming so obviously I ran in, and it turned out there was a spider in the corner of the shower, so I had to kill it. Anybody want the rest of my fries?"

"You love fries," Rogue said, just as Gajeel blurted out, "You saw Heartfilia in the shower? Naked?"

"I've been having fries with my food every day for the past week. I literally can't even look at them anymore, I get so nauseous. This is like...death, Rogue. Fries are my favourite pseudo-healthy food. I can't even eat my favourite food. Anyway, yeah, I saw her naked in the shower. She's seen me naked in the shower, this is like some kind of payback, I guess." Sting held out his plate towards his stunned friends. "So? Any takers?"

* * *

"I've decided what I'm going to be this year." Wendy nodded her head. "I'm gonna win the scariest costume contest."

"Ghost girl?" Mest asked hopefully. The health sciences student shook her head, tapping a finger to her lips. "You'll find out the day of! Now, let's get started on this essay. Do you have your papers-"

"Why are you trying to become a pseudo-adult?" Mest cut her off. Wendy raised a brow in confusion. "What?"

"You said ghost girl was too childish earlier. You're a baby adult doing pre-med. Sounds about the opposite of childish to me," Mest said.

Wendy pursed her lips. "Baby adult.  _Baby_. I look like I'm in  _high school,_ Mest, how am I supposed to be taken seriously if I look so tiny? I can't dress up as anything even remotely childish, because then I won't win the scariest costume, because people will think I look cute and not scary."

He reached out and tugged a strand of her blue hair. "So? People pay hundreds to look as young as you do; embrace your biologically...or genetically gifted natural youth-makers."

"Genetically gifted natural youth-makers...huh, wonder if that means my biological parents were this tiny and young looking," Wendy mused. "Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

"Your biological dad is probably, like, 5'4. Shorter than I am. Your biological mom is literally gonna be 4'11, I call it already," Mest declared. "I'll bring a tape measure for when we find them."

Wendy nodded. Mest tapped his chest, opening his mouth slowly. "You know what a wolf in sheep's clothing is, yeah? That's you. You don't look scary, but deep inside, you could probably level a house or three."

"Thanks, Mest." Wendy smiled sincerely. "Now. Let's move on to more important things. This essay-"

"Wait, there's a new react episode. Cringe comps 2!"

"What? Wait, move over, lemme see!"

* * *

"The grammar police, or the vocative comma?" Mard questioned aloud. "There are benefits to both. I suppose I could carry a basket full of basic grammar cards to hand out in lieu of candy…"

"You make your students cry enough," Mira scolded lightly. "Just dress up as someone from a book. Gatsby?"

"No. Unfortunately." His lip curled slightly in distaste, "Professor Bob has already taken that costume. The competition between the arts and the English department for the role was intense."

"Competition?"

"We drew for representatives from each department, and then had a random selector choose between the representatives for the role. I came in second." A slight crease marred his forehead. "Next year it will be mine."

Mira blinked several times before erupting into a fit of snickers. Several other patrons around the café turned to the commotion, but glanced away quickly when they caught sight of Mard. Eventually, Mira sighed and wiped her eyes delicately. "Oh, Mard." She smiled softly. "You are so...nerdy."

"Is that bad?" He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken this much in one go outside of lectures. It felt oddly freeing to just...talk about  _nothing_. He was starting to understand why people like Eucliffe and Mira did it. Although, Eucliffe's inanity  _did_ tend to grate on his nerves, so he narrowed his list down to just Mira.

"No, no. It's just...very you," she said. "As I would have expected of the great Professor Mard Geer T-ah, sorry. I forgot to ask; are you going to Bacchus's party on Halloween?"

"A professor attending a children's party," he sniffed. "I will dress up for the required amount of festive joy and the staff party, and then I will go home. I have papers to mark."

Mira faltered a little before perking back up. "That's fine! I look forward to seeing your costume. Oh, have you tried the pumpkin muffins here? They're to die for!"

Mard shook his head, and the woman gasped. He nodded politely as she began to rave about the muffins, mind elsewhere.

_Expected of me, hm…?_

* * *

Sting appraised himself in the mirror. His black shorts clashed well with his black tank-top, upon which the neon letters reading 'I flexed and the sleeves fell off' were amongst the only colours in his costume. He had found a pair of old converse, which he figured looked douchey enough to pass (it certainly had in  _his_ day), and paired them with Nike socks. Twenty-five-dollar neon pink shutter shades covered his baby-blue eyes, and a ridiculously expensive red snapback he had purchased while drunk on vacation topped it off.

"Only thing that could make me look more basic would sunglasses at night," he mumbled. "Eh, I'd die. Well, I'm about to die anyway, fucking clowns...God, how am I supposed to walk to the party with a clown? This is literally how white people die in horror movies. I can't be another statistic. How would they explain this to dad? 'Sorry to inform you, but your son died at a party last night, he was murdered by clowns'. Shame to the family. Shame. Mulan wouldn't be this much of a little bitch…but Mulan was the saviour of China, she's supposed to be badass. Not me, nuh-uh. It's 'Mulan', not 'Sting'. Although a movie about me would be hilarious-"

"Are you talking to yourself again?" Lucy yelled. "Seriously, Sting? Come on! We have to go!"

Sting exhaled sharply, puffed out his chest, and kicked the door open. "It's ya boy, ready to fuck - wow."

"What?" Lucy snapped defensively, tugging at her red shorts. "I bought the costume at a store, don't judge me."

"Are you gonna be able to walk in those?" he pointed to her heels. "With your bone bruise?"

"I'll manage. Now, the costume. What do you-"

"Did you actually dye the ends of your hair or is that a wig?" Sting asked as he leaned over to inspect the red and blue ends. He certainly hoped it was a wig. Dye took forever to wash out, it got the laundry messy, and it would mess with the structure of her hair if it was the cheap, drugstore shit. He knew from experience.

"I dyed my hair. Authenticity is key," she said. "That's all you have to say about the costume? Really?"

Sting blinked slowly and roved his eyes up and down her body. "Those shorts are really shiny. I hope the glitter doesn't get on the furniture. Nice bat, though, we're gonna need it. Smack an evil clown or two like it's whack-a-mole. Clown-a-mole. Whack-a-clown. Or maybe-"

Lucy tapped his knee with the bat, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to cause him to reflexively bend away. "You haven't freaked out yet. About me being a 'clown'."

"You don't look like a clown to me," he said, shrugging. "You look like Lucy with badly dyed hair and bloody pyjamas. You did a pretty shit Harley Quinn impersonation, but at least you look nice. I'll give you five out of ten for effort. Hey, wait, put the bat down. Lucy. Wait!"

* * *

The party was already well under way when the blonde duo entered the threshold. The bass of the music was so deep that Sting could feel the vibrations under his feet when they had been a street away. In the house it was only louder, and he could barely hear Bacchus's shouted greeting.

"I see they took down the pictures," Lucy said into his ear. He was leaning at an odd angle to be able to hear her, but it was better than not hearing her at all. "Well, yeah, they don't want shit to break."

"Welcome, heathens!" Bacchus yelled. He was already missing his shirt, to no one's surprise. "Open bar is down there, costume contest is in ten. Sugar-tits, you look fuckin' fine as ever! Sting, you look like a douche, but I'm not surprised. Anyway! Let's get wild!"

A resounding roar followed his statement. Sting was almost certain his eardrums were about to burst. A small part of him wondered if anyone was going to call the police on them.

"Holy shit, it's Natsu!" Lucy screeched. "Hey, Sting, let's go meet Natsu!"

"I'm gonna get a drink first, you want anything?"

"White Russian, if they have it!"

"A'ight." He waved her off and headed to the bar. The bartender looked dead inside, and vaguely familiar in a 'I probably cut you off in parking' kind of way. "Hey, can I get a long island and a White Russian?"

"Drinking this early in the night, Mr Eucliffe? I would have imagined you would like to stay sober in light of all the clowns," Professor Geer said. Sting almost knocked one of the stools in his haste to back up. He had definitely not noticed him approach from behind. "Yo, prof! What...what's good?"

"The long island you are ordering," he replied, and Sting couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Why are you at a party? Don't you have grades to do?"

"The University decided that because there was an off-campus party of this volume, there needed to be a chaperone of sorts to ensure nothing could reflect poorly on the institution. My name was drawn," he said. Sting nodded slowly. That...sounded fake, but whatever. Croc was weird in that way.

"I need vodka," Mest shoved Sting aside. "Like, right now. I am not drunk enough to deal with life."

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" Sting asked.

"Ghost Girl from episode 10 of Generations. God, you all are behind," Mest muttered.

"Are you wearing a confirmation dress?" Sting blurted. "And whose makeup did you steal?"

"Yes, and I bought it from the dollarstore. Anyway. Vodka? Thank you. Oh, hey, Mard."

"That is Professor Geer to you."

"Are those real ruby cufflinks? Shit, man, that's some hardcore dedication."

As Mest continued to natter on, Sting took his prepared drinks and left, shooting his English professor a vaguely apologetic stare. Professor Geer glared back with an intensity that promised a drop in his GPA.

"Yo, Lucy! Got your-" Gray Fullbuster snagged the White Russian out of his hand and downed it in one gulp. "...Nevermind."

"They didn't have White Russians?" his roommate pouted in disappointment. "That's a pity. Thanks for the long island, they're good, too."

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled.

"Entering the costume contest, Sting?" Natsu yelled over the music. "I am! Fuckin' King Tut!"

"Please tell me you're wearing clothes under that."

"Hell no. Au naturale, baby!" Lucy edged away in disgust. Natsu pouted, but didn't reach for her again. Sting rolled his eyes and scanned the party. Familiar faces surrounded him: he saw Laxus and his little squad of misfits in the corner, probably getting ready to judge the costume contest. Cobra was texting away with Midnight propped against his shoulder in blissful sleep. Gajeel and Rogue were starting an arm wrestling chain, and Cana Alberona and Elfman Strauss were cheering them on. There had yet to be a moshpit, so Sting figured the party was a success by all standards.

"Alright, bitches, contest time!" Bacchus roared. "The fucks in that corner will judge! First up, Lisanna Strauss as catwoman!"

"You didn't sign up?" Sting turned to Lucy.

"I'm not exactly in a scary costume, you know," Lucy replied.

"Next up is Max Alors as...Santa Claus? What the fuck, dude?"

"Oh come on." Sting bumped his shoulder against hers. "We all know what these costume contests are about. Sex appeal. Who cares about how scary a costume really is?"

"So you think I have sex appeal?"

"Yukino Aguria as a nurse! Cute shit! Wait, fuck, Sorano-"

"Sure," Sting said. He chanced a glance her way. "Objectively, you're pretty hot. You just don't know how to use it to your advantage."

"What advantage?" she challenged. "Who would I ever need to seduce?"

"Mirajane Strauss as satan! Really sexy satan, holy shit, lady."

Sting paused. Who  _would_ Lucy ever need to seduce?.

"You could seduce anyone you wanted, really," he admitted. "I don't know why you would want to, but it could help with shit like this."

"Wendy Marvell as...the ebola virus? What?"

At this, both Sting and Lucy whipped their heads towards the makeshift stage (which really looked a lot like a large inflatable bed with pool tables laid out on top to act as a hard surface), where diminutive Wendy stood as tall as she could with her shoulders set proudly. Having lived with Rogue his entire life, Sting had been quite exposed to all of his work material, including structures of bacteria and viruses during high school, and if he recalled the squiggly image correctly, Wendy's costume was an exact replica of the virus.

Honestly, it looked like a bunch of pool noodles twisted together to him, but the detail was astounding.

"I...what?" was all he could manage to sputter out.

"She wanted to win the scary costume contest in the most adult way possible," Mest said with a grin. Sting startled, and he felt Lucy jump beside him, too. When had the other man even approached them?  _Ninjas,_ Sting thought to himself.  _There's a cult of ninjas on campus._

"Makes sense," Lucy said. "The ebola epidemic had most adults reaching for the phone to get emergency war-bunkers. It  _is_ pretty scary."

"What a nerd," Natsu laughed. "I love it."

"We got Midnight here as Schrodinger's Cat!"

"Does he have cat ears on?"

"Is that a tail?"

* * *

"You looked nice."

Mira nearly dropped her red solo cup in surprise. She turned around so quickly that one of her black wings clipped a row of empty beer bottles, which all crashed into the sink.

Mard kicked one of the larger shards of bottle glass on the floor under the counter. "I am certain we can blame this one on Eucliffe, if not some other drunken fool."

"W-what are you doing here?" Mira stuttered out. "N-not that I'm not happy to see you! I am! Just, you said you weren't coming, so, I mean, I just-"

"The University selected me to oversee the off-campus party to ensure no one would besmirch the University's reputation," he said in a well-rehearsed way.

"You were voluntold to supervise a frat party?"

"If you must put it so crudely."

"When did this happen?"

"I was told that I was given this position a day after I told you I would not be attending."

"Oh," something close to disappointment coloured Mira's voice. The professor raised a delicate brow. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I just figured you would tell me beforehand, I would have…" she trailed off and shook her head, plastering on her signature smile. "Well, all that matters is that you're here now!"

"What would you have done?" Mard asked. "If I had told you? What difference would it have made?"

Mira remained steadfastly silent. He edged closer and leaned his weight against the counter next to her. "Well?"

"I would have invited you to come with me," she said so quietly that, had it not been for his proximity, he wouldn't have heard it. Years of maintaining a blank composure in the face of all types of stress allowed Mard to maintain a relatively straight face. Unfortunately, he did not have such a keen grasp on his sympathetic nervous system; his ears burned in what he knew was probably embarrassment. Not an emotion the great Mard Geer was used to experiencing.

"Understand that I would have turned down the invite, Mir-Miss Strauss," he corrected himself. He was slipping up more and more often. "It would have been a matter of propriety."

"I understand." She nodded. "Well, it's a good thing you came of your own volition. I found a loophole in propriety!"

The corner of his lips twitched. "That you did. Now, I believe we should extend our congratulations to Miss Marvell on her ingenious costume and subsequent victory."

"What are you supposed to be, by the way?" Mira asked as they exited the kitchen. "Or did you not dress up?"

"The devil," Mard said. His black eyes held a faint glimmer of amusement. "I forgot I owned Prada suits."

* * *

"That was wild," Sting declared. "Wild as fuck."

Lucy groaned, slapping his chest with the back of her hand. The heels she had worn dangled from that hand, while her other held the bat that was dragging in the dirt. "Don't, I left the party and that means I left Bacchus behind. I never wanna hear that word again."

"Aren't we starting one of Oscar Wilde's books in class next week?" Sting teased. "How is the great Miss Heartfilia supposed to maintain her high nineties if even hearing the author's last name sends her into a fit of epic proportions?"

"I'll catch the flu," she promised. "I swear I will. I can't hear that word anymore."

"Wild. W-I-L-D-oh my God."

"Sting? What-holy shit," Lucy whispered. "Is that...Sting? Sting!"

Sting was seeing threes. He could feel his chest moving up and down rapidly, but he couldn't hear himself breathe. He knew his heart was beating rapidly, but his chest was so numb he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel any of his fingers, either. If it hadn't been for Lucy's tight grip on his bicep, he probably wouldn't have remained standing, either.

"Clown," he squeaked.

It was about hundred meters away, leaning against a streetlamp. He could see a red wig, polka-dotted costume, and twisted mask. Something in his hand glimmered under the light.

"Maybe it's just a student?" Lucy asked quietly.

"No way."

"Sting," Lucy's voice was panicked now. "He has a knife."

"Run!" Sting screeched, taking off. He had never been particularly fast in his life. Like every good fourth grader, he had signed up for track and field when he could and never participated the following year. Soccer drills did involve running, but it was never about time. Mostly endurance. He was thankful for those soccer years, because he was certain he could make it back to their dorm without a second thought. Lucy had done track, so he was certain she could keep pace.

"Sting!" she screamed. Sting whipped around and froze. Lucy had fallen over  _something_ and it was on her bad leg, too. Her heels and boots lay at her side, arms gone around her bad leg to cradle it to her chest. The clown was closer now, waving the knife in the air like that freak out of psycho.

Lucy. Clown. Lucy. Clown. Lucy. Clown. Lucy. Clown. Lucy. Clown.  _Lucy. Clown._

"Sting!"

Lucy.

In three giant strides he was at her side, sitting her up so he could grasp her waist and hoist her over his shoulder. She gasped as his elbow dug into her stomach, and he winced as her weight bore down on him and threw him off balance. Sting grabbed one of the shoes and whipped it at the clown, cheering loudly when it collided with his head. He picked up the other one and launched it at him, then grabbed the bat and turned tail.

"You keep an eye on it!" he shouted. Lucy's hands fisted in his shirt and pinched the skin underneath. That would leave marks, and not even the fun kind.

"It's getting closer!" she screeched hysterically. "Oh my God, we're gonna die!"

"Shut up, we're not gonna die! See why I'm scared of clowns now?!"

"Yes, yes, I see why, now run faster!"

"This is the fastest I can go with live weight on me!"

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Seriously?!  _Now?_ You wanna discuss this  _now?_ "

"So I am fat! And - left you idiot, left!"

"How the hell do you even know which way we're going?!"

"Muscle memory!"

"Your muscles aren't in action, what the fuck!"

"Left! Left! For fucks sake, how did you get into physics if you can't tell left from right?"

"Says the woman who decided heels on top of a bone bruise were a good idea! I told you! Didn't I?"

* * *

"Is that Eucliffe and Miss Heartfilia?" Mard squinted. It  _had_ been a while since his last optometrist appointment and he hadn't worn his glasses in ages, so it stood to reason that everything in the distant was fuzzy around the edges.

"Yes. Oh my, is that a clown…?" Mira frowned, pulling the edges of his suit jacket closer over her shoulders. She had left her wings, tail, and pointy ears at Bacchus's for disposal, and Mard had immediately dropped his coat over her head once they had stepped out.

"On Crocus grounds?" Mard sounded incredulous. "They were at Oak Town College the other day, were they not? They skipped a few towns over."

"We're the next biggest in name in terms of proximity to OTC," Mira reminded him. "Are they making their way over here…?"

Mard pushed her lightly towards the grassy portion on the other side of the sidewalk and stepped back to join her. Mira slipped out of her shoes and stretched her pedicured toes. "Should we help them?"

"No, I believe they can handle it," Mard said.

"-oh, so now my tits are dead weight?! Do they annoy you, oh venerated Lord Sting?"

"When they keep slapping by back, yeah! I'm gonna have tit-shaped bruises for weeks!"

"This is the closest you will ever get to a set of tits in your  _life!_ "

"Bitch,  _please_ -"

Sting was a blur as he whipped by the duo, holding Lucy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Mard and Mira watched them get smaller and smaller as they headed off into the distance, bickering the whole while. The clown was jogging after them at a slower pace, most likely tired out at this point. What Eucliffe lacked in extreme speed he made up for in high endurance, and it seemed the clown was woefully unprepared. The man in costume paused by the two on the side of the road, bending down to clutch his knees and pant heavily.

Mira tapped Mard's shoulder twice and dragged a line across to his neck. His eyes flicked down to the clown's hand and caught sight of the knife that the silver-haired beauty pointed out. Eventually, the clown glanced up at them.

"I would advise against attempting to engage in a fight," Mard said coolly. "If you do not understand simple English, as I assume a neanderthal like you would not, I will simplify it further for you."

"Fight us and we can't guarantee your safety," Mira finished cheerfully. "And it would be awful if someone got hurt on Halloween of all days, wouldn't it?"

"Terribly unfortunate."

The clown dropped the knife and took off in the opposite direction with renewed vigour.

"My, my." Mira placed a delicate hand to her cheek. "That was quick. He dropped his knife, too."

"Ah. Shall we continue?" Mard made a slight gesture towards the sidewalk. "Your residence is not far now."

"Of course. I think some tea is in due order as well."

* * *

Wendy was high on life.

"That was actually an amazing costume," Mest raved for the fiftieth time that night. "Like, I was not expecting that at all!"

"Thank you," Wendy chirped. "That was so much fun to plan! And...is that a clown?"

Mest only had enough time to blink before a bundle of bright colours crashed into his back and sent him tumbling forwards. The clown quickly scrambled off and made to continue walking forward, only to be greeted by an irate Wendy, who wasted no time in kicking him in the stomach. "Don't you dare!" she snapped.

The clown doubled over, and Wendy rammed her elbow down on his head, then swung her foot to hook around his left knee and tug him down. She then reeled that same foot back and clocked him under the jaw with her knee. The clown groaned, rolling over and exposing his back to a flurry of quick stomps to his kidney area. Satisfied, Wendy turned to Mest and helped him up.

"I got into my first adult-fight!" Wendy exclaimed. "That was fun!"

"That's great," Mest mumbled weakly. "Remind me to never piss you off. Mind if I stay at your place? I need pain meds."

"You might have a concussion. No pain meds."

"Put a man out of his misery."

* * *

"If I ever see a clown," Sting said hoarsely. "I'm killing it."

Lucy patted his head lightly. "Kill it twice. Once for me."

He rolled over and threw an arm and leg over half her body. The psychology major whined weakly in protest, but silenced at his low grunt. "I can't move...my legs are jello."

"My stomach and thigh hurt," she said. "Just move your arm a little." He complied, shifting it up to rest just under her breasts. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"Now shut up and sleep."

"We have class in three hours," she reminded him.

"Skip day. Not doing anything important. Now  _sleep_."

"We're starting a new novel-"

"Nothing important. Sleep."

"It's-"

" _Sleep._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own fairy tail, etc etc


	7. PRNDL

"Who hurt you?" Sting breathed. " _Who?_ "

No answer. He reached out hesitantly, hovering. Always hovering. He couldn't trust himself - not when she was this hurt. Trepidation gave way to concern and when he finally touched her, he flinched. Cold. So, so,  _so_ cold. The scratch was rough beneath his fingers. He pulled away quickly and exhaled shakily. "Baby, who hurt you?"

"It's a fucking car, Sting," Rogue deadpanned. "It's not going to start speaking, this isn't a Pixar movie."

The blond shot his best friend a pained look. "Rogue, I need to know who hurt my needs to give me the answer, give her time. She's traumatized."

Rogue rolled his eyes so hard Sting was almost concerned they'd get stuck in the back of his skull and Rogue would be forced to walk around looking like a possessed corpse for the rest of their natural lives. He looked dead enough to play the part. The brunet crouched beside Sting, inspecting the front bender. "Sting, it's a two-inch long scratch. Somebody probably tapped it when reversing. You can't even tell it's there unless your face is pressed up against it."

Sting let out an affronted gasp, clutching the front of his offensively bright tank-top. " _Rogue_. That is a  _battle wound_. Somebody injured my baby and you expect me to let it slide? Dishonour her and you dishonour me. I will seek  _vengeance._ "

"Will you go and join a vaguely paedophilac snake-man and promise your body in turn for power to do so?" Rogue asked dryly. Sting nodded. "If I have to." He sighed and patted the bender lovingly before rising and cracking his knees. "I mean, the least this dude could have done was leave his insurance or something. Or a number so he could pay for it."

"I really doubt insurance companies pay for this sort of thing. And...you're not seriously considering getting it touched up over this, are you?" Rogue slid into the passenger seat and paused when he didn't hear a reply. "Sting?"

"Baby must be kept perfect," Sting snapped, stroking the steering wheel with an almost insane possessiveness. "Fucking perfect." He inserted the key and twisted it. The car let out a horrible wheezing sound that echoed throughout the parking lot. Sting's face paled and he tried again. The car's wheeze was only amplified by Sting's accompanying croak. He reclined his seat backwards, crossing his arms over his chest like a vampire would. "This is it. This is the end. This is how I die."

Rogue pulled out his phone and found Gajeel's number, dialing it. "Gajeel. Sting's car broke down-"

"I see the light. Jesus? Is that you? Here for my soul as I lay here dying?"

"Would you mind taking a look at it?"

"Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And lips, O you the doors of death, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!"

"Sting, that doesn't make  _any_ sense in this context, stop being so dramatic you idiot blond. Yes, Gajeel, this is definitely an emergency. Hurry before he starts reciting To Be or Not To Be."

"As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, and if I die before I wake-"

"Gajeel.  _Now._ "

* * *

"It's not that big of a deal, Sting. Your spark plugs wore out, it happens," Lucy coaxed, patting his head gently. "Gajeel will get it fixed in no time."

Sting stared up at her with teary eyes. He was careful to keep his head off the leg with the bone bruise, instead resting on her healthy leg. He didn't mind that she was half-perching her textbook on his skull, especially when her other hand would toy with his hair every so often. Okay, well, it was less 'toy with' and more 'I'm distracted and I need to keep a hand busy while I highlight', but it still counted. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was at a psychologist's office. Or was it psychiatrist? One of them could dispense drugs, he just wasn't sure which one. It didn't matter. Lucy could speak psychology-comfort either way.

"It'll take him  _days_ to find the parts," Sting whined. "How am I supposed to survive without my baby? It's cold outside, Lucy, I need my baby!"

"You can walk," Lucy said. Sting poked her side and she yanked his hair in retaliation. "But it's so  _cold_...and don't tell me you don't enjoy me giving you a ride to English in this weather. What if the snow decides to come? Huh? We're gonna hafta walk in  _snow_."

Lucy rolled her eyes and flipped the page. "Good exercise."

"I'll catch pneumonia," he moaned. "In both lungs."

"Good for you," she murmured. Sting paused. "I'll get jumped by fedora's."

"That's nice."

"Lightning will strike down and fry me."

"Endurance training for later."

"Clowns will kidnap me."

"Happens to everyone."

"I could slip and crack my skull open and then you'd have to watch as my brains spill all over the concrete."

"Brains are nice."

"Professor Geer could turn into a vampire and suck all our blood for being late."

"Sting, just use my car," Lucy finally snapped. He raised his scarred eyebrow. "You own a car?"

"Yeah, it's a second-hand Camry. I don't use it very often. Keys are in my purse somewhere, go nuts."

"Lucy's the best!" he crowed, jumping up and hugging her tightly. "No pneumonia for me!"

"I'll do a lot worse than pneumonia ever could if you don't get off."

* * *

Mard Geer hated cars.

Hated was a weak word. Loathed. Despised. Abhorred. A master at English, and yet even he could not put together a sentence that could accurately convey how much he longed to crush every vehicle that had the audacity to be functional. Cars were noisy, and they contributed to air pollution, and they clogged up the streets, and their idiot owners got into accidents which made it impossible for him to leave his house with enough time to spare because for some godforsaken reason everybody wanted to huddle around the sidewalk and watch the police proceedings. Really, what was there to see? Injured people, broken cars, noisy sirens...there was nothing new.

If there was anything Mard hated more than cars, however, it was the late bus. The late bus came twenty minutes after his regular bus, and Mard swore the late bus arrived from an alternate dimension because in the span of twenty minutes, the passengers went from hard-working adults like himself to  _children._

Not just any children, no. Middle-schoolers. The bane of his existence. Every minute spent caged in the 40 by 8.5 foot enclosure with the little thorns was a minute spent drowning in  _hormones_ and  _gossip_ and that  _vile_ aftershave spray that he was certain was banned in schools. Every minute spent in that hell was two brain cells lost, so Mard made every effort to avoid the late bus. It would take nothing short of divine intervention to get him to ride on it, and even then said divine intervention would have to be very convincing.

Today, divine intervention came in the form of the snooze button and no coffee.

" _Arriving now: Bus 42. Arriving now: Bus 42."_

Mard took a swig of the cheap sludge they sold in the coffee shop back in the terminal and braced himself.  _It's a half hour bus ride, it's a half hour bus ride, it's a half hour bus ride-_

Screams. Perfume. Sweat. Gossip.

Perhaps he would pull a page out of Heartfilia's book and let the bus hit him hard enough to injure. Granted, he wouldn't have a Eucliffe to be doted on by (he sent a silent prayer of thanks for that), but he would have an excuse to not show up for a while.

"You comin'?" Mard exhaled softly and stepped into the bus. The doors closing behind him felt a lot like the gates to hell sealing themselves. At least it was warm. Humid. Warm...and humid? Oh. He winced.  _That_ would require a shower when he arrived at work.

"Mard!" The professor chose to blame his stumble on the fact that the bus had lurched and he wasn't holding anything and  _not_ the fact that one Mirajane Strauss was waving at him from her seat.

"Miss Strauss," he greeted. "I was not aware you took this bus."

"Ah, I don't usually. My friend who lives off campus got sick. She lives alone, you know, so I offered to stay at her place until she gets better!" Mira smiled. She patted the seat next to her. "Sit! You look tired."

"Thank you." Mard sat down as gingerly as he could. The seats were far too close for his comfort. Honestly, who designed these things? This was uncomfortably near for him and someone he knew, let alone two complete strangers. He crossed his legs tightly and shifted until there was at least a solid inch of space between the two. There was nowhere safe for his briefcase, so he settled for hugging it to his chest. Death, he decided, would be preferable to this.

"You take this bus?" Mira asked. Mard shook his head. "No, this is the late bus. I delayed my alarm a little too long."

"The dreaded snooze has bested even the great Mard Geer," she teased. "You can't possibly blame your students, then."

He shrugged delicately. "I will find something else, then. There is always something to blame on them."

"Can you find a way to blame the weather on them?" The corner of his lips twitched. "Summoning various demons in an attempt to postpone classes and midterms."

Mira laughed, slapping his arm. This was...familiar? Friendly? It rang of comfort in his presence. He wasn't sure how to respond.

"So you do have a sense of humour hidden underneath all that snark," Mira said. Her eyes were twinkling. She looked happy, he thought. A lot happier than she was towards the beginning of the semester. Joking like this made her happy, then.  _Were_ they joking? Banter? Banter made her happy. But so did jokes. Did it matter from whom? He certainly preferred it when he did it with her, but that was because she knew what he meant without an explanation. Perhaps it operated on the same principle for her.

"I have many layers," he deadpanned.

"Like an onion!" she chirped.

"Onions are more known for making people cry, so I suppose that is accurate."

"They don't make you cry if you wear swimming goggles!" she sang.

Swimming goggles, he mused. That was new.

* * *

Lucy's Camry was in pretty good shape for being an ancient demon straight from the nineties.

"This seat feels weird," Sting complained as he slid into the driver's seat. Lucy huffed from the passenger's side. "Well, excuse my car for being so inconsiderate."

Sting adjusted the seat but it still wasn't comfortable. He was used to more leg-room and height and more options with the backrest and  _wow_ he hated this car already. Even the steering wheel felt wrong under his hands. The gear shift was in between the two front seats and he wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that. How did people survive without the gears being close to the wheel?

"This car is fucking dusty, when was the last time you used it?"

"Beginning of the year. Like I said, I'm not good with cars at all. I have no idea how I got my license, to be honest," Lucy said.

Sting gaped and patted the worn steering wheel gently, as if it were made of fragile glass. "You poor thing. You've been sitting here neglected for  _months_ , haven't you? Don't worry, papa's gonna fix this…"

" _Papa_?"

"Cars are like children," Sting said sagely. "They come in all different shapes, sizes, and conditions, and they all deserve the same kind of love." He eyed the odometer warily. It was running on miles per hour, AKA, the hell system. Imported from Sin, then. He wrinkled his nose. Sin was all kinds of backwards and crazy; they had yet to convert over to the metric system, they calculated their temperature in Fahrenheit (though Sting was opposed to both Fahrenheit and Celsius - Kelvin or  _bust_ ), and they  _deep fried doughnuts and turned them into bacon cheeseburgers_. Those were three different kinds of precursors to disease rolled into one unholy sweet-salty-and-greasy package, and Sting preferred to take his health hazards in one at a time, thankyouverymuch.

"Is this going to end up like  _About a Boy_ where you end up teaching my rebellious car how to be mature, and my car humbles you?" Lucy asked. Sting raised an eyebrow and let a grin creep up on his face. A 90's movie reference in a 90's car (the 90's didn't end until 2007 and Sting would fight everyone on this). There was something poetic about the whole thing. Professor Geer wouldn't have been  _proud_ of him, per se, but he probably would have rolled his eyes and not docked a point for misuse of a semi-colon in his next essay.

Probably.

"Nah, I was thinking more  _One Fine Day._ My rebellious kid and your rebellious kid act up, forcing us to put aside our differences to look after them, eventually ending the day exhausted and curled up together on the couch after a passionate first kiss," Sting said. It took him the better part of two seconds to realize just what he had said, and then another three seconds to convince himself that forcing the airbags to go off and give him a concussion in hopes of forgetting this ever happened was not worth the other potential injuries. He started the car and cleared his throat, using his shoulder check as an excuse not to look at her as he said, "Not that I'd ever kiss you, you know. 'Cause you could have mono."

"So could you," she countered. "Now shut up and drive before - oh, no, Sting, don't you  _dare_ -"

" _I've been lookin' for a driver who is qualified, so if you think that you're the one step into my ride!_ "

* * *

Mest was at a genuine loss.

"You can't  _drive_?" he repeated, as if saying it again would somehow change her answer, but his best friend merely rolled her eyes, brushed her hair out of her face, and flipped back a few pages in her notebook.

"No, I can't, which is why I need you to do me a favour and drive me to Crocus East General. Grandeeney told me the name of the doctor who oversaw my adoption process in the hospital, I need to meet up with her and ask for more details," Wendy explained, tapping at the messy shorthand that filled the page. Mest almost twitched. Of  _course_ she picked out something he couldn't read. Of course.

"Doctor lady comes later, I need to deal with the absolute travesty that is your inability to drive. What if you're in an emergency and you need to drive away, huh? What'll you do then?"

"Call 911 like a normal person?"

"If you're out of range?"

"All cell phones can dial 911 whether they're in range or not."

"If your phone is dead?" he challenged. Wendy gave him a pointed look and tossed her pencil at his head. Mest let it bounce off his forehead and land in his mug of coffee, using it to stir the three heaps of sugar at the bottom. He could see diabetes in his near future. Taste it, really, but he would take that over having to let the disgustingly fake sweeteners Wendy adored coat his tongue.

"Then I get in a car and hit the pedal. Driving laws don't apply to me in an emergency," Wendy said. "Are you gonna drive me or not?"

"Yes, but I'm gonna teach you to drive, first. I'm offended on your behalf."

* * *

Sting's first indication that shit was about to hit the proverbial fan and coat the four walls of his life in smelly biohazardous waste was The Glint that took up residence in Lucy's eyes when she saw Candy.

The Glint had quickly become a familiar tell for Sting, and gave him about thirty seconds to prep himself for a night of acting as impulse control, as unnatural as that was for him. Normally, he was the one doing the dumb thing and Lucy was the one saving him from the social media/legal embarrassment. In this case, The Glint was a prelude to what Sting felt was a violation of all earthly ethics and the single most dangerous thing to happen to the streets of Crocus since that one dude led a two hour long police pursuit while high off salvia a couple years back.

"You can ride a bike?" Lucy turned to Gajeel with a smile on her face. Gajeel, the fucking traitor, pointed to Sting and said, "Yeah, and Sting taught me."

A downright fucking  _lie_ , because the person who had taught all  _three_ of them when they were fourteen and eager to test out whether or not humans had as many lives as cats was Metallicana.

"You should teach me, too! It's only fair 'cause I'm letting you use my car," Lucy said. Sting sputtered for two seconds and decided to put systematically ripping out all of Gajeel's eyebrow piercings on the backburner to deal with the demand.

"No. What? You told me you can barely drive your  _car_! Why would I let you on Candy? That's Gajeel's bike, too, he should teach you." Sting nodded, shooting Gajeel the visual equivalent of the 'na na na nana naaaaaaaaa' sound. Two could play the blame game, and there was a 62% chance he'd win this time.

Gajeel tossed the bike keys at Sting's head and shrugged. "I don't really care whether you use it or not. You want lessons, ask him." His sharp teeth flashed oddly under the garage lighting. "Consider it payment for the spark plug fix, Stingy-bee."

In that moment, Sting swore that if he hadn't spent half a summer saving up to help get Candy painted hot-rod red, he would have  _accidentally_ gotten the motorcycle scratched to hell and back and blamed it on first time driving.

* * *

"Your foot should be on the brake. Like, at all times. 24/7, I wanna see that foot on the brake. Well, okay, not when you're on the road but like...when you're parked? Brake. When you're at a red light? Brake. Stop sign? Brake.  _Before you're ready to drive_? Brake. When-"

"Mest, I get it!" Wendy finally yelled. "Foot on the brake!"

"I'm just telling you what a normal instructor would, Wendy." Mest looked away from the rearview mirror just long enough to give her a teasing look. "Besides, I'm pretty sure this is just the universe's way of exacting revenge on you for being a helicopter spazz when we study."

"Says the person who once tried to do a shot of Nitro-Jaegermeister because  _he had to know_. You're as much of a keener as I am."

"I can't hear you over the smell of Eau de Karma."

"Those are two different senses,  _what_?"

"Later, young padawan," Mest said. "Now, what's the order we go through when getting ready to drive?"

"Adjust the seat, the mirrors, then you put on your belt - which is  _super_ counterintuitive, by the way. What if you got hit by a car while fixing a mirror? You'd be done for. I mean, I get it, you wanna get your seat comfortably placed first but-"

"Wendy. Focus."

"Right, right. Uh, let's see, foot on the brake, then you go from 'park' to 'drive', release your handbrake…" the health sci major flew through the motions, pausing only to figure out how to twist the gears smoothly, and hit the gas. Mest yelped and grabbed the sides of his seats so tightly he was afraid either the leather was going to rip or his fingers would. Or both.

"Tap the pedal! Tap the pedal, don't  _hit it_!" Mest screeched. Wendy slammed the brakes and Mest went flying forward, jerking against the seatbelt.

"I'm sorry!" Wendy squeaked, her hands fluttering over him. Mest groaned, leaning back and rubbing his chest. He waved off her concerns while double-checking to make sure no ribs were broken. Bruises he could deal with, breaks he could not because that meant immobility while it healed and he had exams to get to. If he was gonna be injured by a car, it had to be a  _faculty member's_ car so he could get his tuition paid for by the university. Semantics, really.

"For the love of all that's good and holy and green on this Earth,  _never slam your brakes like that again_. Tap it. Tap the brakes and then gently press down," Mest instructed. He was slowly starting to regret giving her his precious Mazda to practice in. His insurance rates were high enough as is and they would only skyrocket if he got into an accident, and then he'd have to pick up a second job to pay that shit off. Mest shuddered. He would have to do... _retail_.

"Gotcha." Wendy nodded, pressing down on the accelerator. Cruising at a comfortable twenty kilometers per hour, Mest felt his heart rate drop to relatively normal levels. He was still in the yellow zone, but at least he wasn't seeing white in the corners of his eyes anymore. The slower his heart rate, the slower his breaths, the less the pain that came with breathing. He prodded his chest as Wendy approached a corner, wincing. Right. Perhaps a trip to the ER would be necessary at one point. Just to be safe.

"You wanna go super slow on turns. 15 at the most."

"Got it."

Wendy turned the corner and hit the accelerator again, much to Mest's displeasure. He swore there was a direct correlation between the speed at which Wendy was driving and the beats per minute of his heart. One extra mile per hour was one extra beat per minute. He eyed her odometer warily, watching it climb to fifty. He had about ten more kilometers before he would start worrying.

Fifty-one.

Okay, maybe he would start with little panics and work his way up.

"Maybe a little slower?" Mest suggested weakly. "Forty? Please?"

"It's a fifty zone." Wendy pointed to one of the signs they drove by. Mest's brow furrowed. He passed this area every day and he swore up, down, sideways, and in reverse that that sign had always said  _thirty_ …

He turned to face her, wariness setting into his bones like a winter's chill, except he was sweating instead of fighting off frostbite. "Wendy, pull over, there's something fucky with the signs-"

"There's nothing fucky with the signs, you're just panicking. I'm driving perfectly fine!"

"You're driving in a straight line, not even Natsu could fuck that up and he's motion sick when you even mention the word 'car'."

"Should I be offended that you're comparing me to Natsu like that?"

"No, it's a compliment. A backhanded compliment, but one either way."

"Nonetheless. The word you're looking for is  _nonetheless_."

"Nonetheless, shmundtheless, can you pull over?"

"You look kinda off…" Wendy placed her palm on his forehead and peered up at him in concern. "Are you coming down with some-?"

"Eyes on the road!" Mest shrieked (it wouldn't be until three hours later, when his heart was relatively not ready to give out, that he would realize that he did a damn good impression of the golden egg from the fourth Harry Potter movie). He grabbed the steering wheel and turned it away just in time to avoid ramming into two people crossing the lot. It was nothing short of a miracle that he could hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears, but he was able to faintly make out the sound of a blender dying.

"Oh my  _God_!" Wendy threw the car into park and jumped out, rushing over to the two pedestrians. "Mira! Professor Geer! I'm so sorry!"

Professor Geer. A faculty member. What was the policy for this? Mest couldn't pay for his tuition considering the man had already  _graduated_. Perhaps his mortgage for the month? Images of couches worth more than what his entire bank account had in it on top of his credit limit filled his head and filtered down to his stomach, settling in nicely and leaving him feeling all sorts of  _fuck-I'mma-throw-up_.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Mira assured Wendy, waving her hands away. "It was an honest mistake, no harm done!"

"To us, perhaps. Mr Eucliffe's car did not fare as well," Professor Geer said snidely. Mest walked around the car to stare down at the front of Sting's car, eyeing the nice scratch to the paint on the front bender.

"Wendy," Mest said calmly, "I'd like to be cremated and my ashes put into one of those pots so I can grow into a tree."

"You're being overdramatic," Wendy said.

"Everybody will attend wearing their convocation robes - except Gajeel because we all know that idiot isn't graduating anytime soon, so he can wear his curtains - and I want them to sing all the songs from The Lion King, starting with 'Circle of Life' and ending with 'Deception, Disgrace'." Sting would likely be humming the tune to 'Deception, Disgrace' the whole time. He loved his car almost as much as life itself, and any harm to the car was a personal attack to him, which meant that Mest was as dead as the mincemeat he'd had for dinner the other night. If he survived this, he'd go vegetarian.

"You can always just walk away," Mira suggested. "There are no security cameras around, and we won't tell, right, Mard?"

"While I have no legal obligation to inform Mr Eucliffe of this accident, Miss Marvell does. I will not tell Mr Eucliffe about this, however if he does inquire as to how this occurred, I will tell him the truth. It is a matter of ethics," Professor Geer said. Mest broke out of his morbid trail of thought just in time to see Professor Geer shift his bag from one hand to the other and eye Mira briefly before turning his gaze back to Wendy. "As a...favour, I would like for you to examine Miss Strauss. Just to be safe."

"I'm not a substitute for an actual doctor," Wendy protested. "I-"

"Am right," Mira interrupted, shooting Professor Geer a heated look. "I'm  _fine_.  _Professor Geer_  is overreacting because I fell asleep in the stairwell of the library and rolled down a flight by accident. I'm not going to break if the wind blows on me, you know?"

Mest considered himself a fairly intuitive man. He wasn't Rogue, with his borderline psychic ability to know exactly what someone was thinking at any given time, but he had a knack for picking up on linguistic cues that elevated him to the top three in his program. Two things about that exchange had settled under his skin like an inescapable itch: one - Mira's use of Professor Geer's professional moniker was ten kinds of wrong given that she was rumoured to be one of exactly two people able to use his first name without fear of death; two - Professor Geer was known far and wide to be one of the most formal, stuck-up, son of a bitch this side of the continent. He would  _never_ stoop to saying 'just to be safe' when the more uptight alternative ('to err on the side of caution') existed. Something was hanging between them like a string of Christmas lights that only got more tangled as you tried to unravel it.

"-der? Mr Gryder?" Professor Geer's voice rose just the slightest.

"Uh, yeah? Sorry."

"We were going to head to Miss Marvell's to have her inspect Miss Strauss. You will drive this time."

Mest winced, eyeing the scratch on Sting's car. "Yeah. Sorry, Wendy, this is probably the end of your driving escapades with me. I'll figure out how much a bus pass costs."

* * *

"What are you  _wearing_?" Sting asked. Lucy frowned and tugged at the ends of her shirt self-consciously. "Clothes."

Sting stood up from where he was leaning against Candy and circled Lucy like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. She was dressed in fairly standard sporting gear: skintight capris, a strappy top with a sturdy looking sweater over it, and her hair was pulled back into a braid.

"You know what road rash is, yeah?" Sting tapped her capris with his foot. "This won't do much to protect your legs. But it's your first time so we won't be going crazy fast anyways. You'll be fine just this once. Get on Candy."

He steadied the motorcycle as she slid on, and slipped in behind her once he was sure she was comfortable. The movies had it  _all_ wrong, there was absolutely nothing sexy about this position. Lucy's shoulderblades dug into his chest, and the helmet she wore was growing sticky where his cheek met it on the right. Expectations - 0, Reality - 9000. Sting made a mental note to sue every filmmaker who had a scene remotely similar to this for libel and slander and whatever else sounded scary enough. Bastards.

"So. Uh, this thing here is the hand clutch. You use it to kill the back tires when shifting gears, which you do by twisting this thing down here with your foot." Sting nudged her left foot. "The right handle is your accelerator. Just twist the thing. The little lever there is your brake for the front wheel, and the brake for the back wheel is on your right foot."

"Gears left, speed up and stop right," Lucy summarized.

"Basically. You catch on quick," he complimented. This bode well for the both of them: Lucy because she would be proficient in no time, and Sting because he was slightly less likely to die now.

"So we'll practice with the clutch first. Put your hand over the lever," he instructed, closing his hand over hers. Minute trembles registered under his skin. She was nervous. He couldn't blame her, motorcycles were a nightmare and a half to work with even  _with_ experience. He rubbed his thumb against her hand soothingly and helped her pull the lever. "Okay, now push down with your left foot. This is first gear. When you feel no resistance, you've made it."

"Got into first," Lucy reported.

"You're a pro already," he teased. "You'll be giving Gajeel a run for his money. I'd pay to see that, you know. Hot, tiny blonde versus ugly old brute. It's like Tokyo Drift but with bikes. Or that one biking anime. Or YuGiOh 5Ds. Can you believe they battle while riding weird circle bikes? It's an insult to everything the original series worked for."

"Uh-huh. What now?"

"We start the car. I'll flip the kill switch for you, you pull in clutch and hit neutral. Foot lever goes up one."

"Done."

"Hit start."

"Yup."

"Now we give it 45 seconds to warm up. So, how's life?"

"Good. I have to cover a shift at work this weekend, so I can probably buy myself a new shirt or two with the extra cash. You?"

"Funny, I got called into work this weekend, too. Is this a conspiracy? What if bossman wants to sell us to aliens?"

"Shut up,  _Mulder_."

"The truth is out there, Scully. You can't deny it. Not after kidney dude."

"That episode was so  _fucked_ , I can't believe you made me watch it."

"I can't believe you never watched The X-Files before we met. 45 seconds are up, by the way, time to roll." Sting placed his hands on Lucy's shoulders, sliding down her arms to cover her grip once again. Her neck wasn't exactly prime resting location, but his jaw would recover. Hopefully.

"Power walk time," Sting announced. "Walk with the bike until you're comfortable, then let your feet up every so often. For balance and all."

Sting had had no issues power walking the first time Metallicana had stuck him on a rusty old demon they fondly referred to as Henrietta. He had always been rather tall for his age and that gave him the leverage he needed to keep his feet on the ground. Lucy, on the other hand...well, he hadn't been joking when he called her hot and tiny. She was fucking  _short_. A solid head and some off his own height. Her feet dangled uselessly a couple inches off the ground, so he planted his down firmly and lowered the bike on the right so her foot touched the gravel.

"I'll help. Waddle like a pregnant lady, blondie!"

It was awkward. Very, very awkward and somewhat painful, even. His hips would be sore for days. His knees would need to be surgically repaired. His ankles were eroded. Sting brightened considerably when he figured he could skip leg day at the gym for a couple days.

"Leg up!" he shouted. Lucy flailed and locked her calves around his. The bike wobbled and tilted to the side, causing him to smash his foot down to keep them upright. Ignoring the thousand pinpricks dotting his muscles, he helped her straighten the bike and nodded. "Again."

Much like a baby bird learning to fly, it only took a few more falls off the nest before Lucy was rolling forward easily. He could feel her heartbeat pounding against his chest, running about as fast as the motorcycle was. Her earlier trepidation vanished faster than Rogue did when someone mentioned a social outing, replaced with what he assumed was exhilaration. He had been hyped out of his ass the first time he had driven, and this was giving him an odd sense of deja vu. If he closed his eyes and relaxed, he could see the muddy path he followed all the way up to the town's water hole.

"Okay, shift to first gear and then release the lever at the same time as you accelerate. Do it slowly." Lucy followed through hesitantly. He rolled his wrists with hers, tightening his fingers when he felt she was throttling too quickly. "Pull your feet up and put them in position. Speed up a little."

Sting watched the odometer rise to about twenty before clamping down on her hand. "Alright, blondie, we have takeoff."

It was slower than he was used to and she had issues maintaining a straight line, but all in all it was...good. Fun, even. Sting wasn't used to being considered an authority on anything and could count on one hand the amount of times he had ever helped someone like this. That he had managed to teach someone who could barely drive a car how to handle a motorcycle was...it was something no language he spoke had a word for, but he supposed the closest he would ever come to it was  _je ne sais quois_.

"I'm doing it!" Lucy laughed. "Sting, I'm doing it!"

"Yeah." Sting smiled, though he knew she couldn't see. He slid his fingers between the gaps of hers and gently sped them up. "Yeah, you are."

_Époustouflant._

* * *

"You are angry," Mard started.

Mira shifted her head from where it was pressed up against the window of Bus 42, staring him down with tired blue eyes. "And if I am?"

He took a sip of his coffee and watched the city blur by over her head. His phone was fully functional and he had purchased an entirely new alarm-come-radio to ensure he awoke at the appropriate time so as to avoid the late bus and resume his regular schedule. But some mornings he hit the snooze button, or misplaced his essays, or forgot to lay out a matching tie for work the night before, and as a result he found himself boarding the late bus on an increasingly daily basis.

Mira never acknowledged him.

It was as if he was a ghost to her. She would make room for him and his bag, close her eyes and nap against the window, and when he woke her up at their stop, she left out the furthest exit. She avoided him on campus and called him Professor Geer when necessary and this is what he had  _wanted_  in the beginning, this distance and formality is what he was comfortable with but it felt  _wrong_. It was one of those feelings that wound around your skull and squeezed so tight you were sure your head would shatter.

"I do not...like it," he admitted finally. "It is disconcerting. I am unsure as to what it is that I did to offend you, but I extend my blanket apology until I am able to identify what the source of this antagonism is."

Mira sighed softly, closing her eyes. She looked fragile, so exhausted, that Mard was certain just one touch would cause her to explode like a star, leaving behind a broken iron core and the barest hints of what she once was.

"I told you to just... _forget it_ ," she whispered. "Just forget about Jose and forget that  _that_ ever happened, but you just  _had_ to get Wendy to check up on me. I have it under control, Mard, why can't you just let it be?"

"Are we friends, Miss Strauss?"

She furrowed her brows. "Of course we are!"

"I am of the understanding that friends help one another. Especially when they know firsthand the kind of suffering the other is going through." Mard crushed his empty cup and turned back to Mira, dropping his guard the slightest bit. Just enough that she could read the sincerity in his otherwise blank eyes. "I am not a doctor, Mira. I can tell you if you have a broken bone, and how long it will take for a bruise to heal. I am well versed in exercising around injuries and I can devise a recovery plan, but I cannot assess deeper damage. If you were to go into the ring again and get hit, how am I to know that that injury will not permanently harm you because of previous hits? You refuse to see a doctor and you refuse to seek help from others. If I am truly your... _friend_  then I believe what I am doing is right."

Mard was a man of few words. His lectures were clipped and to the point, and he usually wasted no time when it came to meetings with students. This was arguably the most that had ever come out of his mouth in one go that had nothing to do with literature. Even more surprising was that it was about...feelings. The last time he could remember being this open was when he had to do a mandatory psychiatric evaluation before getting his job at the university.

Was this what friendship did do people? Left them with bleeding hearts and vulnerability and  _fear_ over losing one another?

"Promise me you won't get anyone involved in this ever again," Mira demanded. "If...if it's just you, that's fine, but...nobody else."

"Then stop running away," he countered. "I am here to help you. Even if it means-"

"It won't come to that."

"If it does?"

"It won't."

Mard nodded and flicked his gaze back down to the styrofoam in his hands. It would do for now.

"I forgive you," Mira said suddenly. "For telling Wendy I was hurt. I'm sorry for being pissy these past few days. You were looking out for me. Still friends?" He stared at her extended pinky and felt the corner of his lip twitch downwards. What on Earth-?

She grabbed his hand and twisted their pinkies together, smiling up at him. "Hm?"

"Yes," Mard replied quietly, dropping their hands to the small gap between them.

He didn't pull away.

* * *

Baby looked as brand-new and shiny as the day he had bought her.

"Baby!" he cooed, dropping down to rub his hands over her spotless, gleaming bumper. "My precious baby is alive and well! Oh, look at you! Papa missed you so much, yes he did…"

"You know, it's kinda cute how attached he gets to his vehicles," Lucy commented. Beside her, Gajeel snorted. "It's fucking dumb as shit is what it is."

"You say this as if you don't spend hours a week maintaining your car and bike," Rogue shot back. Gajeel bopped his cousin with a heavy looking wrench, scowling.

"How was your first motorcycle lesson, Lucy?" Rogue asked. "Sting tells me you were a natural."

"Did he?"

"Fucker couldn't stop raving about how he gave you the best education you'd ever receive and how he should do lessons in his free time."

Any other day and Sting might've asked Gajeel to square up, but at the present moment he was too busy examining every square inch of his precious baby. She had been expertly touched up on the outside, and the inside looked as if Gajeel had scrubbed it down and then treated the leather. Sting grinned. As much as he bitched and moaned about doing odd jobs like this, Gajeel went above and beyond when it came time to handling automobiles. Their little family trio had been raised to treat cars and bikes as if they were ancient deities to be worshipped.

"It was great. I think I might sell my car and buy a motorcycle, actually." Sting turned around so fast he got whiplash. Lucy shuffled awkwardly under three sets of incredulous eyes, mumbling, "I liked the feel of the bike better than a car…"

"I know a dude who can hook you up with a nice second-hand," Gajeel said finally. "I'll get in touch with him."

"Lucy's getting a new whip? Damn, Wendy, you're behind all of us now."

"The money she'll be making as a doctor means she can just hire a chauffeur and never have to worry about driving ever," Sting said. "Though it's a fucking  _pity_ , there's something so unique about driving a car. Something so...wholesome. Fulfilling."

"If your vocabulary was half as decent on your essays you wouldn't be losing silly marks, Sting," Lucy cajoled. She smiled at Wendy and Mest as they approached Mest's car parked next to Sting's. The aforementioned blond sighed heavily, clutching the fabric over his heart. "I teach you to fly and you repay me by plucking my wings."

"Your car looks...perfect," Mest remarked. "Seriously, it looks brand new."

"Gajeel fixed it up. The spark plugs were fucky and some  _idiot_ scratched up the front bumper." Sting rolled his eyes. "Some drivers just need their licenses permanently revoked, you know?"

"Yeah, totally." Mest's laugh was a couple decimals higher than normal, but Sting passed it off as the echo of the garage screwing them up. Wendy wore an expression he'd seen only on students who managed to finesse a high mark on an assignment they bullshitted, which was a little odd but he just figured she was happy over the chauffeur revelation.

"About that." Gajeel frowned at Rogue, "The scratch was a lot bigger than you said it was, dude."

"You consider baby spiders gigantic eldritch monstrosities. Size judgement isn't your strongest suit, Gajeel."

"That's what she said," Sting and Lucy blurted in unison. They rounded on each other and shouted, "Jinx!"

"I jinxed you first!" Lucy crowed.

"No,  _I_ did! You owe me a soda!"

" _I_ jinxed  _you_ , so  _you_ owe  _me_ a soda!"

"Why do I associate with you people?" Rogue muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own fairy tail or any products in this fic etc etc


	8. BLAZE IT

"We have a  _seminar_ due this week?" Sting asked, clicking open the 'English' file on his laptop and scrolling through. Not for the first time, he cursed his inability to give saved documents actual  _names_. Keysmashing was a  _brilliant_ idea at 3 AM (when most of his work was done) but 3 AM Sting made a lot of decisions that 6 PM Sting would come to regret, such as, say, losing the syllabus in a mess of half-assed papers.

"Why do you think we got assigned partners, Sting?" Lucy mumbled from behind a copy of the DSM-5. Sting couldn't make heads or tails of whatever it was she was working on, but if the shriveled up picture of a brain on her laptop was any indication, he really didn't want to know.

"I dunno. Maybe 'cause Mard's too lazy to mark a lot of shit and this reduces his work by half?" Sting suggested, debating between opening 'aauejrjckfkahdjjcir' and 'JEJDKDKFJDNDND'. He was more likely to use capitals towards the middle of the night, and since his class was during the day it was likely that the syllabus was under something lowercase. However, he was  _also_ more likely to start his keysmashes with the  _right_ side of the keyboard towards the  _beginning_ of the semester, and then he gravitated towards the  _left_ as the semester wore on. Decisions, decisions…

"Quick, lowercase or uppercase?"

"...lower?"

Sting nodded and double clicked the file. It wasn't the course outline but it  _was_ the essay on Tess of D'Urbervilles that he thought he'd deleted and wound up rewriting as a result. Fucking shit. The rewrite took years off his life with how many Red Bulls he'd shotgunned to stay awake the night before it was due. It added an entire  _layer_ to his Red Bull Tower of Shame in the corner of the room (a proud six layers tall). Lucy's Caffeine Tower of Shame stood at a decent four layers. He slapped the lid of his laptop down and flopped back with a groan. It didn't matter, he could always re-download it later. Or nick it off Lucy. Both were valid.

"I'm gonna nap," Sting announced. "Set your alarm for nineteen minutes."

She finally lowered her book and raised a brow. "Nineteen minutes?"

"Yes. In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world, or-"

"Jump off it. I, too, read Jodi Picoult's book in high school," Lucy said. "Again. Why nineteen minutes?"

"Because if I nap for nineteen minutes, then I can put on my uniform and be at work just in time for my shift."

"Why not make it twenty minutes?"

The look he shot her was the kind reserved solely for politely telling five-year-old's they were stupid without actually saying the word. "Because that means I'll be one minute late to work, Lucy. You're kinda dumb today," he said, dodging the pencil she threw at his head with a practiced ease. Given that she threw an average of four pencils a day at his head, generally around the same time, he'd more or less come to expect it.

One pencil down, three to go.

* * *

The thing Sting hated most about his job wasn't the constant barrage of stupid customers - though that certainly did rank in his top five - but rather, the Freshly Baked Goods.

The Bard Tavern couldn't be like other shitty cafés that ordered their baked goods in large, frozen shipments and then microwaved them to stale perfection for overpriced resale, no. Instead, The Bard Tavern had its employees bake their Freshly Baked Goods by hand, from scratch,  _en masse_. None of that boxed bullshit, no sir, according to Mr Stilts that was an affront to his beloved  _nonna_ , to God, and to the Freshly Baked Goods sign - in that exact order. So, Sting found himself recruiting fractions skills he'd long since forgotten to whip up muffins, cookies, and doughnuts with a gusto that would have his father rioting, because in all his years on the hellscape known as Earth, Sting had learned to cook exactly one thing: ramen.

Countless hours wasted on youtube later, all it took was Rogue blandly informing him that baking was 'Chemistry Lite(™)' before it all clicked into place and he was popping out Freshly Baked Goods like it was a baby factory.

He  _really_  hated the term Freshly Baked Goods.

"I have an idea," Sting announced. Lucy looked up from where she was fiddling with the coffee machine and groaned.

"Whatever it is, please  _don't_."

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt, going so far as to reel back and gasp. If he batted his eyelashes  _just_ right, his pretty blues would start glistening. He missed his calling as an actor, he really did.

"I'm  _offended_  by your lack of faith in me, Lucy," he said. "Besides, it's a good idea. I'm gonna bribe Mard."

The unopened bag of cups whipped at his head was warranted, but the mini packets of coffee lobbied at his chest right after was a little much. Ish. Her aim was fucking horrible, but he'd have to pick up all the packets and then rearrange them and go through the process of inventory-ing (not a word in the dictionary but it damn was in his heart) their remaining supplies and he was not in the mood. He never  _would_ be in the mood, but he supposed that depended on his workload from differential calc. If it was bad enough…he shook his head firmly and rapped his knuckles against the wooden counter thrice. No use in jinxing himself.

"That is  _illegal_ ," Lucy squeaked, scanning the room as if the registrar was going to pop out from under one of the tables and bust them for conspiracy to bribe a professor or some other weird charge. She grabbed both his wrists and tugged him right up against her, and his heart did a quadruple Salchow in response. He was going to get a permanent arrhythmia from all this touchy-feely shit, and it would soon become one of those Pavlovian-ly triggered responses. There would come a time when catching a whiff of her perfume would do the same thing to him. If he needed a pacemaker, she was going to handle his post-op care.

"Only if I do it with money," Sting reasoned.

"Illegal. I-L-L-E-G-A-L."

"I'll ask Mest next time he drags Wendy out of the library," Sting said as he finished arranging the Freshly Baked Goods - a dozen blueberry muffins in this case - onto a tray that he slid into a rack behind a thin layer of plexiglass. Dusting his hands off on his black slacks, Sting headed for the door with the 'Employees Only' sign stamped on it. "I'm out for the day, Luce! See ya!"

"Don't you  _dare_ bribe Professor Geer, Sting!" she shouted, but the chipper physics major had long since drifted towards his locker and tuned out her warnings.

As he slipped on one of the shirts he'd stolen from Rogue, he caught a glimpse of nirvana in the corner of the mirror duct-taped to the inside of his locker.

"Sweet  _Jesus_ ," he breathed, turning around slowly, as if any sudden movement would scare it away. His lungs froze, half-expanded, as he reached his prize and gently touched the film that separated the two of them. "You're  _real_ …"

Brownies. Honest to goodness  _brownies_  were sitting on the break table, all neatly sliced, stacked, and saran-wrapped, ready to be scarfed down and churned into delicious, diabetes inducing nutrients in his gut. Absently, his tongue poked up to wipe the beginnings of drool dripping down the corner of his mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such enticing brownies. So perfectly moist and thick, with just the right amount of 'crunch' to the top and corners. He could practically taste the chocolatey goodness sticking to his teeth after his first bite, the way it would coat his tongue and the roof of his mouth so that it would leave an aftertaste for  _days_.

Sting looked left. Then he looked right. He even checked the convex mirror up in the corner for good measure. Then, he stealthily undid a section of saran-wrap and pulled out as many squares as he knew would fit into the Ziploc in his bag - considering it was one of those freezer ones, he pulled out a  _lot_  of brownies. If it was on the employee break table, it was for employee consumption. Besides, there were  _six more_ trays of the stuff; nobody would notice a dozen or so missing.

Still, he made sure to  _very discreetly_ stuff his goods under a sweaty gym towel before he booked it for Gildartz's class.

* * *

"Oh  _Mard_!"

The chalk in his grasp snapped in half, right about the same time his will to live lost its tenuous grip on his soul and crashed into the abyss. Mard sighed wistfully and finished his sentence with a flourish, all while mourning his loss. He'd done a remarkable job of staying sane throughout his academic career and was proud to say that he had yet to resort to any sort of recreational drug to stay grounded. Less than a year with Eucliffe, however, and Mard found himself wondering on an increasingly frequent basis which drug dealer in his class he could ask for something to deal with... _him_  in his entirety.

"Yes, Mr Eucliffe?" he replied drolly.

"My man, you have been an absolute  _beast_ this semester, you know that?" Sting slung an arm around his shoulders and grinned up at him, entirely unaware of how close to death he really was. Mard stared at the hand on his shoulder with as much visceral disgust as he could manage without showing emotions. Were those... _chocolate speckles_ he saw on Eucliffe's fingers? The very fingers that were digging into his  _$500 sweater_?

"Mr Eucliffe," he began carefully. "If you do not unhand me within the next three seconds, I will put to use my extensive knowledge of medieval torture and see to it that all that is left of you is a nail and a Tic-Tac containers' worth of ashes."

"Oh, shit, like in Harry Potter with Peter Pettigrew?" Sting asked, dropping his hand to rest on Mard's lectern. The brand-new lectern that he'd had to fight the dean tooth and nail for.

Sting Eucliffe was going to  _die_.

"Why do you know so much about medieval torture anyway? You teach English."

"I also teach medieval history during the summer term, you  _dunce_ ," Mard hissed. "What do you  _want_."

"Oh, right." Sting held up a baggie of brownies and waved it enticingly before him. If Mard had been anybody else, he would have snorted. Because he wasn't, he raised an eyebrow and rolled his weight to his left hip - the academic equivalent to 'really, bitch?'

Or so he'd been told at conferences.

"My dentist would appreciate it if I did not indulge in...brownies."

"You actually visit the dentist? Lame. You probably floss daily, too." Whatever Sting saw on his face had him clearing his throat uncomfortably and thrusting the bag forward, narrowly missing his nose. "I made these. With love. And a lot of tears, but mostly love. Please accept them."

It was in that moment that Mard Geer decided he was going to pull aside Zancrow and ask him for something strong enough to make him forget his own name for a few short hours.

"This is not a shoujo manga, Mr Eucliffe, and I am in no particular mood to be the professor half of your love interest," Mard said, wrinkling his nose at the thought. Of all the people he'd ever envisioned being in a relationship with, even in passing, Eucliffe was not one of them. He never  _would_ be one of them. There were only so many spots for 'annoying people I can tolerate for two minutes per day' that he could fill.

"You read shoujo manga?" Sting sputtered. It took a couple seconds of awkward silence for the rest of Mard's sentence to sink in, and then Sting was gagging. "Ew, dude, no. You are  _not_ on my list of professors I'd like to fuck. Er, bang. Copulate with. Listen, just take the brownies. I didn't make them, I lied, my boss did. Mr Stilts only really started trusting me with-"

Mard tuned him out and mulled over the name Sting mentioned. Stilts, Stilts...he  _knew_ that name from  _somewhere_. His recollection was fuzzy - there was a connection between that name and money, but he had no idea what it was. He didn't  _like_ the fuzziness. A point of pride for him was his almost perfect recall; very few things escaped the bear-trap that was his mind, and said few often had to do with better left unspoken parts of his past. If Stilts was fuzzy, then logically he was a part of it.

He privately vowed to take a look through his old records. His meticulous nature saw him through many roadblocks in his life, and this was no exception. There was bound to be something written some somewhere.

"-you feel? So we good to go?" Sting ended his rambling with a bright smile.

"Yes, yes," Mard murmured with a distracted wave. "Go ahead."

"My man!" Sting crowed. He made to hug him but pulled back at the last second, instead opting to drop the brownies on his desk. "You? You're a real one."

"Class started ten minutes ago," Zancrow complained. "Can we get on with this?"

"Yo, shut the fuck up, Zancrow!" Sting shouted as he made his way up to the third row beside Heartfilia, who looked half-ready to die of embarrassment. Sting turned around to face Mard and winced. "I meant…'silence yourself, Zancrow!'"

Mard sighed.

* * *

Sting cracked his knuckles and took a deep swig of the first can of his 24-pack of Red Bull. He fluffed his pillows (twice), smoothed out his blankets, and balanced his laptop on a book before him. He took another sip of his drink, and changed the font to Times New Roman.

"Bathroom break," he announced, slipping out of his bed and ruining the entire setup. "Well deserved."

"You've literally been sitting there for fifteen minutes," Lucy deadpanned from where she was lying down on her bed.

"And my kidneys have clearly reached their filtering limit," he replied. One quick trip to the bathroom and a change of clothes later, Sting sat back on his bed and changed the font size to twelve.

Not even a half-hour into this whole seminar mess and he was exhausted. He could probably kill some time actually reading the book they had to do it on but that was what Sparknotes was for. Besides, if Lucy's stickied up copy of the text was any indication, they had a lot to work with. All he needed to do was...spruce it up. That being said, his stomach needed a little sprucing up itself. His wandering gaze halted upon the brownie bag. He had yet to eat his delicious spoils, and now was as good a time as any.

"My good bitch, dost thou crave a chocolate square?"

Lucy held up her bowl of cherries and said, "I'm good, thanks."

Sting shrugged and stuffed a brownie into his mouth. He shuddered as the sweet chocolate burst across his tongue. It was just as delicious as he had imagined, though a little sweeter than it should have been. The aftertaste was a little off, too, but he figured that was just some weird side effect of whatever extra ingredients Mr Stilts had thrown in. He cheerfully made his way through two more brownies before chasing it all down with Red Bull and cracking his fingers rhythmically. It was time to figure out just what he was supposed to be making this seminar about.

* * *

It was about an hour later that Sting was hit was the intense need to pee.

"Pee break," he said. When his feet hit the floor, they  _didn't_. He could see the floor and all its weird stains but his feet  _couldn't touch it_. He gripped the side of the bed and lowered himself slowly to the ground, like it was a pool. No matter how low he dipped, he still couldn't touch the floor. When his shoulderblades tensed up, he immediately lifted himself up and scrambled to sit at the edge of the bed, which was slowly starting to feel like it was disappearing, too.

His hands gripped his fuzzy blankets tightly, because it was the only thing he knew was  _real_ in all this. Drawing it close did nothing to stop the heavy banjos in his chest, but if the bed turned into a void then as least he could use the blankets as a parachute to keep him from crash landing.

"Sting? Are you okay?"

"The floor isn't lava," he whispered so the floor couldn't hear him. "It's a void."

"What the fuck?" There was a lot of movement behind him and then St Odilia stood before him, floating above the void and wearing a romper.

"Holy shit, St Odilia. You can  _swear_?" Sting asked. He knew he was probably supposed to pray but he couldn't remember what her specific one was, so he lifted his arm to cross himself, only to find that he had no bones. His arm wasn't  _flopping_ , per se, but he knew that under the hypercontracted muscles his bones were missing; it was why his arm was moving faster than he told it to, because there were no heavy bones inside.

"St Odilia, I think the void stole my bones," he said seriously as he held up his other arm for comparison. It was  _also_ too fast for there to be bones. Except he hadn't touched the void with his arms, so it had to be the fuzzy blanket. He held his boneless arms up to his chest and stared at the blanket warily. "The  _blanket_ stole my bones. Can you call St Stanislaus Kostka instead? He needs to make me new bones."

St Odilia grabbed his jaw and lifted up so she could stare at his eyes. For a second, he was taken aback by how those ugly paintings in the books didn't do her any justice. She was so much more  _ethereal_ in real life. Like a super glowy Greek statue come to life.

"Your pupils are  _blown_ ," St Odilia murmured, pulling down his lower lid. He reeled back and almost fell into the void backwards, but caught himself just in time.

"You can't steal my eyeballs!" Sting yelled hysterically, slapping his hands over his eyes and squeezing them shut - not too tightly, of course, he didn't want his brain to eat them, either.

"Oh my  _god_ ," St Odilia said, horrified. "You're  _high_."

"You can swear and take the Lord's name. Did you steal St Odilia's skin?" Sting accused her. "Body part thief!"

* * *

Mard was only a little ashamed to admit that he caved in and ate three of Eucliffe's brownies.

He'd had no choice. Some absolute troglodyte in the English department's communal area stole his tuna salad sandwich out of the fridge, despite the fact that his name was stamped across the front of the container. Whoever they were, they had reached the point in the semester where their concern for personal safety evaporated along with their hopes and dreams, because when Mard found out who it was, they would come to  _dearly regret it._

So, armed with nothing but three dollars in his wallet, he bought an overpriced sports drink from the vending machine, grabbed the packet of brownies, and locked himself in his lecture hall to wallow in self pity as he marked the midterms for his 'Intro to Effective Writing' class. The brownies only slightly dulled the pain he felt in his chest when he saw that his first midterm had a contraction on the first page. Did they let just  _anybody_ pass high school English these days?

About two hours into his personal hell, Mard realized his red pen died roughly three midterms ago and, more pressing, he couldn't read anything on the page.

He pulled the contacts out of his eyes and reached for his actual glasses, then held the paper up to his face. There were a lot of black squiggles but he couldn't recognize any of them. Well, he  _could_ because he knew they were  _letters_ , but they didn't look right at all. He pulled out one of the midterms he'd already marked and stared at it. There were letters in black and red, the latter of which belonged to him, but they  _also_ escaped his grasp. His chest caught uncomfortably as he struggled to make sense of the simple sentences before him, but he  _couldn't_. It wasn't unlike having a word at the tip of his tongue, but  _worse_ because Mard Geer had not been in this position since he was eighteen years old and concussed so badly he lost a whole day's worth of memory and words.

This was not good. No, it was not good at all. His trembling fingers - trembling! His fingers! Like he was speaking publicly for the first time in his life - reached for his radial pulse and pressed down. He had no pulse. This made no sense, of course, and he knew that but there was a brief second where he wondered if those trashy vampire novels that were popular in the early 2000's had some merit and he'd been turned into one of them. He considered going for his femoral pulse, but remembered that there was one in his neck (the carrot artery, was it?) and touched that. No pulse either. He slipped his hand into his shirt and struggled to remember where 'left' was so he could find his heart.

"Mard?" Mirajane asked carefully. "Are you okay?"

"Miss Strauss," Mard greeted her cordially, and continued to grope around for his heart. "When did you come in? I didn't hear you."

"I used the upper entrance," Mira said, crouching down next to him and touching his shoulder tentatively. He stared at the hand there, mildly intrigued. It was a very small hand and it had a lot of little scars dotting the knuckles. He had those, too, but hers were fresher. It made him feel...acidic in his chest.

"We have an upper entrance?" Mard stared at the upper rows in confusion. When had they built  _that_?

"Yes. Um, are you okay? You look...off."

"Well, Mira. I believe I have been turned into a...vampire. I lack a pulse," Mard said calmly. "Actually, if I may make an amendment: I think I am stoned."

* * *

Sting could see the whole universe from here. Every linked up line and the brilliance of the worlds within them, slowly fading in and out of focus with every accidental twitch of his fingers. It was so  _beautifully simplistic_ in its complexity that tears pricked the corners of his eyes; how was it that every life-form, all the way from their cellular ancestors to now, had called one of these spaces home? In that moment, Sting knew exactly why humans would seek to break the fragile boundaries that separated their world from others. There was just something so innately  _human_ about discovering a new, unexplored world and trying to cross barriers to find friends in them.

"I love this universe," he croaked tearfully, "It's so  _beautiful_."

"What's on that slide?" Lucy muttered.

"A cross-section of onion skin," Cobra replied, somewhat irritated. "He's absolutely fucking  _blazed_. How many did he have?"

"Three, maybe? I don't even know where he got them from!"

Sting looked up from the universe and ambled over to the rows of potted plants on a bench. Some had little green heads poking up from the soil, others were fully sprouted. There was one gigantic pot labelled 'EMPTY', to which he frowned. It was no fair that the little guy had to be empty when his friends were full of more friends. He pulled out a fistful of little green leaves and glanced over his shoulder furtively. Lucy didn't like it when he'd stopped them on their way to Cobra's office space to marvel at the mini-garden on campus. There were just so many  _colours_  and Sting needed - absolutely  _needed_ , like Maslow ordained it - to eat them all. He knew what  _orange_ tasted like, but what about green and yellow? The yellow stuff was okay, but the  _green_ stuff tasted like toothpaste and burned his tongue, but fizzled comfortably going down his throat. Lucy stopped him after two sprigs of the stuff, but he'd stolen a few for when she wasn't looking. Now, though, he knew that the universe wanted him to spread the joy of the toothpaste flower and give it a new home; he dug a hole in the pot and stuck it in there, covered it with dirt, and then he ripped off the 'EMPTY' sticker with a self-satisfied grin. There.  _Now_ it was full of friends.

"Rock on, little man," Sting crooned, patting the pot gently. "Rock on and have toothpaste babies."

"What do I do?" Lucy asked worriedly, "Is there something we can do to shorten his high-time?"

"Not really, no. Just let him ride it out. He'll be harmless," Cobra said. "Bacchus lives next to you two, right? If he starts being too much to handle, just call him for backup."

"Lucy. Lucy. Luce. Luuuuuucy," Sting chanted, skipping over to poke her cheek repeatedly. She had  _really_ soft skin that he  _knew_ wouldn't steal any more of his bones so it was totally safe to keep touching it. Watching her face turn a million shades of red was also pretty fun, he had to admit. Lucy smacked his hand away ( _meanie_ ) and turned to her brother with a helpless look in her eyes.

"Sting," Cobra said, "You wanna watch Monster House?"

"Yes! And caramel popcorn!"

* * *

The last time Mard had been  _high_  was when he was twenty-one and his roommate convinced him to give his gravity bong a try smack in the middle of midterm season. Back then, he'd fallen into a haze not unlike the kind brought on by too many blankets and sleep cycles in a row. Now, however, Mard wasn't entirely convinced he  _wasn't_ a vampire. Or a demon. Something scary and supernatural.

He watched Mira blab on the phone, all the while keeping two of her cold fingers pressed to his missing carotid pulse. He couldn't be bothered with what she was saying - not when she was touching him like this.

Physical contact and Mard Geer got along like Eucliffe and having a bright idea: happened once in a blue moon and was followed up by disappointment. He could count off the top of his head the number of people who had ever hugged him. Their names, too, actually: his mom, Mira that one time last year,  _Lucy_ that one time last year, Mavis from the ancient history department after her funding request went through, and at some point, Mest Gryder (though he'd never actually taught the man, which only  _now_ really struck him as odd). From this, Mard could conclude two things; one, last year was  _peak_ hugging season for some reason, and two, he was supremely touch deprived.

So, yes, Mira's fingers on his neck were  _incredibly_ distracting and he was starting to wonder if this was how weird kinks developed. Would he wind up on a BDSM website in the near future, hounding for a dominatrix to check his vital signs? He blanched and swatted her hand away. Not on  _his_ good watch, no sir.

"Wendy says it should wear off on its own," Mira said once she hung up. "But to keep an eye on you. You let me know if  _anything_ feels weird, you hear me?"

"I have no pulse, Mira," Mard explained with more patience than he typically afforded even the most intelligent person in his classes. The vetsci student gave him a long, hard look, and he couldn't help but notice how...blue her eyes were. It was like some stupid cliche he used to warn against when he taught creative writing several years ago, complete with an orchestra in his head and a whole thesaurus' worth of synonyms for how goddamn blue her eyes were.

It appeared whatever batch of the devil's lettuce he'd managed to consume had some sort of filter-killing properties, because his next coherent sentence was, "You have pretty eyes."

When he could feel his legs, he was going to kill someone. Preferably Eucliffe.

* * *

Sting knew that holding a physics degree on its own was fairly useless - as was the case with any of the holy trinity of sciences - and he'd figured out a while ago that he'd need a masters, bare minimum, to even be considered by companies for hiring. Of course, what exactly his thesis would consist of was purely up to the gods, but now? Now he knew.

"I think I discovered a new colour," he breathed carefully, so as not to disturb his little treasure. It was the most indescribably beautifully weird hazy green/red mix that he was sure was not on the spectrum of known colours. He couldn't bottle up colours  _yet-_

Maybe he could. If he took a picture and then ran it through a hundred scans to identify the wavelength...or maybe if he captured it in a crystal. Maybe that could be his thesis project; using crystals like pokeballs to capture light in the air. It would be genius. He could make billions off ditzy arts kids and physicists and then retire to a beach in some humid climate with low rates of skin cancer. Or some place that could regrow his bones. That would also make a wicked awesome thesis project - using crystals to regrow bones that glowed whatever colour you wanted. Maybe they could do full skeletal transplants with these crystals and he could turn into a full-on glowstick for the rest of his years.

So many maybes, so little time.

"It's on the TV, Sting," Lucy explained patiently. "That means the colour already exists."

Sting pouted, but brightened up immediately after. "Silly, I'm gonna turn crystals into pokeballs and then harness those into colourful bones."

"...why."

"For science," he said as he grabbed one of her notebooks off the bed, flipping it open from the back so he could set up an observation chart. Cardinal rule of thumb in science: it's only valid if you write it down. He tried to draw his lines as straight as possible but doodling them in funky loops was more fun so he scribbled out five columns and rows and went back to staring at the screen.

"I wish you'd show half this enthusiasm for English," he head her murmur, "This seminar is due tomorrow and we haven't even touched it. God, should I email Professor Geer for an extension?"

All he heard was 'Geer' and he shot up like a manhole after an underground explosion and tackled her to the bed. She was soft and warm and would most certainly not be stealing his bones anytime soon, but if Mard knew that he was slacking off the night before a paper…

"Don't do it," he begged, staring up at her with eyes that he couldn't feel in his head any more. Not that he was supposed to ever feel his eyes in his head. He thought so, anyway, but if it was a part of his body then he should have been able to feel it, which of course begged the question of why he couldn't feel his internal organs. Did they have pain receptors? Did internal organs feel anything? If they couldn't, were they even real?

Was  _he_  real?

"Sting, we don't have a choice. You're high off your mind right now, there's no way for us to save ourselves from a failing grade, and this seminar is worth 35% of our grade."

"If he finds out I'm high, he'll physically manifest in our room at three am, steal our teeth, stuff them into socks, and then use the socks to beat our feet," Sting hissed, clamping her arms down to her sides and koala-hugging her. He would stay here all night if he needed to - whether or not he managed to keep his eyes open was another story, but he was sure the Red Bull coursing through his body right now would give him an extra couple hours.

Lucy scowled and squirmed, trying her damnest to break free of his grasp. After a few moments and an awkward attempt at kneeing his head, she loosened up and sighed heavily. Though he was quite comfortable cushioned up against her, her warmth the only thing he was currently capable of feeling through the dissociative haze of his skin, his grip went slack and he sat up next to her. He didn't mean for her to get all upset. If the world wasn't exploding into a mosaic of colours behind his eyelids, complete with an 8-bit soundtrack, he would have done  _something_ actually useful. He didn't know what he could do if he was being honest with himself - he didn't even know what the goddamn seminar was  _for_.

" _That is illegal_!" He heard the TV screech, and it was then that Sting was yanked to enlightenment by the same thick branch that swung the animated officer up in the air. He was astral projecting, there was no other way to explain it. It was as if his body was here on this physical plane, while his soul drifted off to Pluto's fifth moon to meet the corporeal embodiment of knowledge.

"I know exactly what to do," Sting managed to say once he found his way back home. "Don't you worry, Lucy, I'll save you."

* * *

"Why do you continue to fight, Mira?" Mard found himself asking before he could stop himself. "Surely...surely you can stop."

Mira didn't look up from where she was measuring out milk for the macaroni and cheese in a box. It might have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw the stream of milk wobble a bit before pouring out evenly. "I'm fine, Mard. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."

Mard stood up to not quite his full 6'2 frame. Balance was a little shaky when it felt like he was on top of a see through glass floor a hundred feet above the ground, but he quashed down the flippy feeling in his stomach and shuffled over to brace himself on the counter next to her; not quite close enough to touching, but enough that he felt a little zap of static between their arms. She was so much smaller than he was, so much more fragile, but so much stronger. Because she didn't run away. Not like him.

It was likely the weed ham...it sounded like laundry baskets, he thought, frustrated. The word he was looking for sounded like a laundry basket. The weed was screwing with his brain, to put it into layman's terms, and Mard was not chill with it. He had always been on the more severe side, but he hadn't experienced such a lapse in judgement and his own thought process since the early days of his masters degree, back when he was still-

"At first it was because I couldn't," Mira said softly, stirring the milk in. He watched the hazy white overtake the little bits of macaroni, enchanted by the beautiful dispersion patterns over the water. It was what he imagined ice looked like after an Olympic figure skating competition - swirls that overlapped so many times that a whole new layer of ice was upturned. He tore his gaze away from the pot and fixated on Mira, who'd gone eerily still. There was a faraway look on her face, like she was a hundred miles away. Sympathy and nausea warred in his gut as he patiently waited for her to continue. He knew all too well the escapist fantasies and the elaborate runaway plans plotted in the brief moments they were allowed to breathe. A quiet dream at three in the morning; a stolen moment of silence between classes he had no motivation or energy to attend. His hand drifted to cover his hip.

Yes, he knew very well what she wanted to do.

"But I stay now for Elfman and Lisanna. The money is...it's enough for all of us," she said firmly, returning to stirring.

"I can help," Mard replied. "Whatever you need, you know that."

Mira laughed, all windchimes and soft breezes again. She placed a cold hand on his and absently felt for his wrist pulse as she spoke. "You're too kind to me. You always have been. I can't rely on you forever, Mard.. I'll be fine, I promise. Money isn't going to be an issue for much longer. Once Lisanna graduates, I can start...looking for other employment."

"That's not what I meant," Mard said.

"We've had this discussion before. Please, just...drop it," Mira said with such a tone of finality that he closed his eyes and stepped back.

"It...is easier if you confide in someone."

"Would you like any spices on your food? According to the internet some black pepper might help sober you up faster," Mira told him cheerfully as she extended a bowl his way.

Wisely, he chose not to comment on the tremor in her fingers as he accepted it with a jerky nod.

* * *

"Finished the citations!" Sting yelled at four in the morning.

" _Shut the fuck up!"_ He heard Bacchus screech next door. " _God, just_ shut up _! Fuck!"_

"Peace and love, man!" Sting shouted back. "We finished a seminar the night before it's due, what's good?"

Lucy lobbed a pillow at his head and moaned from where she was half draped over the bed. He'd offered her a mixer of tequila and juice an hour ago, but she'd knocked back two shots and returned to her regularly scheduled furious typing. Forty minutes later and she was a curled up lump on the bed with enough ammo around her to toss his way when he started humming or talking or questioning out loud or anything fun, really. He deserved it, yes, but Sting was alive as hell and on a  _roll_. He'd never had this much inspiration for anything in his life  _ever_ , and he was starting to see why Zancrow wrote all his papers blitzed out of his mind. Sure, there were moments when he was sure he was gonna have to apply his cumulative two years of physics knowledge to a practical setting in the middle of space because he was so out of his mind, but the aftermath when he was more heavily buzzed than anything? Prime time for pounding out a paper or two.

"Lucy, we did it!" he cheered as he saved the powerpoint and slapped his laptop shut. Bounding over to her bed, he flopped down on the comfy mattress and poked her ribs. She jerked away and he poked her again, this time a little higher. He kept at it, poking her over and over again, following the curve of her hip up and down and sometimes even a little towards her stomach, until she rolled over and jammed her fingers into his armpit. Sting squawked and scrambled away from her relentless wiggles, all the while cursing their tickling competition a while back. She'd discovered his weak spots  _way_ too easily. He'd sworn her to secrecy and made her pinky swear never to use it against him, but there were snakes everywhere.

Or, well, there had been about two hours ago. Kind of. There were weird glow worm  _things_ on the roof for a solid…half hour before they melted away into the abyss. Sting did  _not_ miss those creepy shits, no sir. Bugs were the devil and he did not play around with them.

"Are you  _sure_ we have the okay for this?" Lucy asked again.

Sting rolled his eyes. "Yes, Lucy, we do. I asked Mard that day in class, remember? When I gave him the-"

He went still all of a sudden. All forms of life halted and the world went horrifyingly cold. The chill chased away whatever high was still left in him, and he was ten feet in the ground, back amongst mortals.

"I gave Mard weed brownies," he choked out. Lucy reeled back and clapped a hand to her mouth. "You  _didn't_."

"If he ate them…"

"Professor Geer is...high right now," Lucy said hesitantly. It took a couple seconds for the absurdity of the situation to really hit them. Sting had given their uptight, closed off, robot overlord of an English professor  _edibles_ , and he was probably meeting Space Jesus himself on his journey through the stars. The mental image of him pulling off  _half_ the antics Sting had, searching for munchies, and calling campus police was almost too much to bear; all it took was one glance for the both of them to burst out into a fit of giggles that probably would have woken up Bacchus if it was a decibel higher.

Sting's hand came down to ruffle Lucy's hair once he'd gained control of his diaphragm and his eyes weren't watering up any more. Still tangled in the silky blonde locks, his hand drifted down to rest on her ear, where he toyed with her little sparkly earring. She met his tired gaze with an equally sleep-deprived smile on her face, and Sting was struck by how lucky he was to have made a friend like her.

Yes, Rogue would probably put up with him through this bullshit, but Rogue was his  _brother_ and had an...obligation. He certainly wouldn't have entertained his outrageous solution to their predicament. Gajeel might have, if only out of laziness, but Lucy? Lucy didn't doubt him  _once_. Oh, she grilled him within an inch of his  _life_  and he realized why she had such a knack for psychology, but the unwavering trust on her face once she knew for sure they were in the clear was like a metal rod that straightened out all the kinks in his spine and had him standing firm in his convictions as he led her through hammering out this seminar.

He was a rather simple creature; at the end of the day, if you trusted him, Sting would  _never_  do anything to betray that. As such, he would stay up longer and check and double check and even  _triple check_ the seminar over and over again, until he was sure that, if nothing, her grade would be saved. Sting could deal with a 35% hit to his grade. It would crush Lucy, and he had no intentions of letting that happen.

Not to one of his friends.

"You know, you're the best roommate a guy could ask for," Sting said blearily as a wave of dizzying exhaustion forced his eyes to close for a second before he caught himself and jerked awake. He had to stay awake. He had to make it perfect.

"Same." Lucy yawned, drawing closer to him. He couldn't muster the energy to lift his arm off her face even an inch. She tossed the blankets over them and shoved her freezing toes between his calves, sighing in relief as their temperatures sought balance. "We can power nap for an hour or two before we get up to perfect it."

"No, you need your sleep," he protested. "I'll just drink another Red Bull-"

"Shut up, Sting. Partners suffer together," she asserted. "Now,  _sleep_."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Mard said as he lay on the sofa, staring at the stained roof above him. He could count all the corners that were peeling on the tiles now, and he remembered how to count to fifty in Latin, which was indicative of his returning senses. Whatever strain of weed he'd been given had been oddly developed for a brief, intense high and rapid advancement to sobriety. While he was glad his embarrassment could be safely limited to confirming his students' claims that he was, in fact, a demon or a vampire, his teeth still gnashed together painfully at how  _loose_ he'd been with his tongue.

How loose he'd been with Mira.

"For what?" she asked from her seat by his feet.

"Intruding on your private life. You are correct. I should mind my own business. What goes on in your life isn't something I can interfere with. Not...now."  _Ten years ago,, maybe,_ he thought privately.  _Back when I was younger and you could still be saved._

He wondered how things would change if he'd been there to help her before she'd gotten sucked into  _that place_ too deeply. Maybe she wouldn't ache in her bones as much as she did now. Maybe she could go a day without purple blotches on her skin and scars on her knuckles. Maybe he could look at her and feel something other than crushing despair.

She patted his leg and smiled beatifically as always, with a touch more melancholy about her than usual. "I'm grateful to have a friend as concerned as you are, Mard."

"Mira...you know that if-"

"I need anything, I can come to you," she cut him off kindly. "I've only heard this once a day for  _how_ long now?"

The corner of his lips tugged up ever so slightly. "I will repeat it every day until you understand what I mean."

"Guess I'll be hearing it for a while then, huh?" she teased him gently. "Should I start looking into free houses next door to one another for the future?"

"You may as well book our nursing home rooms while you are at it."

* * *

"So, to summarize:  _Monster House_ is actually a brilliant modern adaptation of  _Romeo and Juliet_ , where, instead of the poison, the house itself is used to symbolize how toxic their relationship actually is. Much like the two of them dying for one another, the house trapping the old man in it for years after his wife's death is an accurate representation of why rushing into romance without thinking it through is a horrible idea and will drag you down in misery once you get past the initial cloud of infatuation," Sting finished with a flourish. Beside him, Lucy pushed her oversized aviators further up the bridge of her nose and stuffed her hands back into the deep recesses of her sweater. She was typically prone to dressing up for presentations and the like, but after three hours of sleep and a hangover, she'd grabbed the first things she could find on the floor - including his sweatpants - and shuffled out the door with death in her eyes.

"Your presentation was supposed to be on  _Titus Adronicus_ ," Mard Geer rasped from his seat in the front. By Mard standards, he was a complete  _mess_. His shirt was rumpled, the sleeves rolled up, pants slung low on his narrow hips, and his normally kempt hair was barely held back by a rubber band he'd snapped off a collection of paper on his desk when he walked in. There were a disturbing amount of lusty stares focused on him in the class, though Sting had to admit he  _did_ look pretty decent when he wasn't such a stick in the mud.

He rationalized the positive commentary was due  _entirely_ to the guilt he flt over accidentally drugging his professor - there was no mistaking the red tinge to his eyeballs. Mard had been blazed the same way he was.

"I asked you if it was okay that we switched to another Shakespeare play if we didn't like our own, like, yesterday," Sting pointed out. Mard opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly. To anyone else, the hand pressed to his forehead was out of exasperation, but he could see the little circles the English professor was rubbing into his skin, and he winced in sympathy. He'd woken up with a headache no amount of gatorade could cure, too.

"Please," Lucy croaked out.

"Fine. Just...send me a copy of your writeup after class," Mard mumbled, slapping his folder shut and stuffing it into a briefcase. He stood up and jerkily made his way over to the lectern to collect other papers spread out there, and then said, "Class dismissed. Call it an early day, go...study."

The class was vacated faster than it did during fires. Zancrow patted Sting on the shoulder as he passed, nodding in approval, and Totomaru looked ready to sob in joy as he shoved people out of the way in his haste to exit the room. Lucy plopped into a seat with a quiet 'five minutes' on her lips. Sting paused and adjusted the sunglasses on her face so they wouldn't hurt her as she rested, and then turned to Mard and smiled sheepishly. "So. Those brownies. Listen, I had  _no_ idea they were laced and I was  _also_ -"

"Mr Eucliffe, you have about thirty seconds before I rip out your ribcage and convert the bones into pikes for the Iron Maiden you will soon be calling home. I suggest you run."

Sting slung Lucy over his shoulders in a fireman carry and  _booked it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as my organic chem prof says, be patient and only eat edibles as per directions also I in no way endorse marijuana (time to Cover My Ass legally) uh what else idk

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, I congratulate you.


End file.
